Notes on the Dirty Days
by heptaPon
Summary: Berry Punch hasn't got one place to call home. She's got hundreds of them, and her original home she ran away from years ago. Traveling from one city to another and from one life to the next, Berry long ago learned what it means to be a rolling stone. Some day, she promises herself, things will be different and will finally allow her to settle. Maybe they really will be.
1. Into the Ditch

I arrived in Manehattan on a rainy afternoon in October. Some four or five years ago that must have been, but I couldn't say for sure. Maybe it was six or seven. I'm terrible with numbers, you know. Recalling facts and such has never really been among my strengths. I'm more the poetic sort of pony. Somepony with a refined taste for the finer arts. At least that's what I could have been. I never really invested much time in appreciating art. But if I ever had, I'm sure I'd have enjoyed it very much.

When my train pulled into Manehattan Central that day, rain had been pouring down in streams for some hours already. The weather was bad all day this time of year, but apparently the local pegasi decided to give it a little extra squeeze just when I got off. Or so I thought. The rain seemed to be a little less strong when watching it from inside the cabin.

Only when I exited the train did I notice how there wasn't any roof anywhere on this platform. And the terminal building was all the way across the station grounds, a good two-hundred feet off. Several tracks still ran between the next dry spot and myself.

I winced; even galloping straight across would take me a good twenty seconds or so. While it didn't sound like much, it would still last long enough to get myself soaking wet. I couldn't really afford that. Of course, it wouldn't matter all that much if it were for my coat only, even though drying myself off afterwards always turned out to be a pain.

I was more concerned about the two saddlebags strapped around my back. Much like the rest of my scarce belongings, they weren't in a very good shape. Only two weeks ago, during a brief stay in Whinnyapolis, I somehow managed to tear open the bottom of one of them. I still can't figure out how that happened. The bag must have briefly gotten stuck somewhere when I didn't notice or didn't keep an eye out. These things tend to happen.

After giving it some thought, I had decided to reinforce the bottom of both bags with a solid bit of cardboard. While far from fancy, it more or less preventing stuff from falling out. Of course, it also meant I couldn't let my saddlebags get wet unless I wanted them to fall apart completely. All things considered, the cardboard solution probably wasn't a very good idea after all. I should already have noticed how bad an approach it was back in Whinnysota, right after the first rainfall. And there's rainy days up there pretty much all the time.

Now, I didn't have a choice. And I didn't have any time to lose either, so I wished it all to Tartarus, and dashed forward as quickly as my hooves would carry me. I leaped clear across the remaining tracks, cold rain aggressively gashing into my eyes and snoot, yet I still arrived below the station's balcony in less than half a minute. Luckily, there weren't any other trains arriving or departing at the time which could have made me pause. It was for the better anyway because I pretty much forgot to look out for them, I think. Maybe I just didn't care.

I almost crashed through the door of the terminal building, given the sheer speed I still had upon reaching it, then tumbled into the crowded foyer that lay beyond. Most of the ponies I could make out in here were exceptionally well dressed, with the middle and lower classes only represented as a minority. My fears of Manehattan being way overdressed for a mare like me were easily dismissed, however, at the sight of a bum sleeping on a nearby bench, wrapped in blankets and old newspapers.

As far as first impressions went, this didn't tell me a lot about the city I just arrived in. It might have been a high-end place, but it didn't have to. Bottom shelf representatives were very much present here, but then again, where weren't they? I shook my entire rump and head back and forth in order to dry off to at least some degree. Rain water mixed in with the dirt I gathered up over the past days sprinkled the surrounding walls, floors, and bystanders as I did. Some of the nearby ponies looked at me with disgust, while some others just brushed it off with a sneer. I really couldn't care less, either way. The worst thing to possibly happen would be somepony trying to sue me for money. Because I had no idea where that would be supposed to come from.

Of course they had every right to react the way they did. I hadn't gotten a shower or bath in over a week or so.

I suppose I drew some of my immediate priorities from that thought. A bath sure would be nice, especially regarding this kind of muddy weather. And a room with a bed to sleep in would go well with that, I thought. I'd been forced to sleep out on the street or some park bench on several occasions during my life. Although both may present an acceptable alternative to appropriate housing at times, I really do prefer some dry place with a heater. Especially during seasons like this one.

After salvaging a still-fresh copy of the day's _Manehattan Times_ from a nearby trash bin while no-one was looking, I turned to head out onto the street through the main entrance. Sure, I hated the thought of going back out into the rain. But that was just another necessary evil, right now. Unless I wanted to wait in the terminal building for the rest of the day, or whenever else the rain was supposed to stop. And I didn't want that. I was worn-out and tired from the journey, and from not seeing a proper bed in about three days. I felt cold, hungry, and perfectly annoyed by all those mindless ponies rushing on and about around me. Plus, I really wanted a bath.

Trotting up to the main exit, I spotted a row of small billboards on the wall right beside it. One of them described the way to a cheap hotel of some sort, somewhere nearby. It didn't say cheap, but they'd misspelled hotel, which just about gives away the category. Or maybe, a pony like me just notices when she's spoken to after a while. In any case, I knew what I was dealing with.

Now, when I call out on a hotel being cheap, I really mean it. There's all sorts of products, deals, or services around the world I could describe with that word. As in, low budget, but they still work. And then there's things like these kinds of hotels, which are _cheap._ They're the really lousy kind. A rusty bunk somewhere in the back of an office complex, combined with some cold breakfast and a cup of coffee that tastes like somepony else already drank and digested it _._ Throw in some trashy tourists from overseas who just want 'a good time,' and you got yourself a standard package.

Of course, a place like that also never charged any more than five bits a week, and that at least was something I could afford. Scattered across my saddlebags at the time were twelve or thirteen of those coins, so that would work. I checked the ad again. The address was located somewhere on East 39th. I had no idea where that was, but it couldn't be very far off. Whenever a place like this gets advertised at the railway station, it's usually within two or three blocks' range.

I stepped out into the open soon after. To my distaste, it was still pouring outside, maybe even heavier than before. I could tell I might need something else to reinforce my bags with after today's walk. Maybe just some more, thicker cardboard would do the trick. It's not like pieces of that stuff aren't easily interchangeable, or something.

A row of cabs stood lined up out front on the sidewalk, their drivers waiting for any potential passenger with anxious expressions. I can only guess how hard those inviting smiles of theirs must have been to keep up. Most of these stallions' coats were already dripping wet; they must have stood and waited out here for hours. One of them even asked me if I needed a ride, but I've never been one for luxuries like that. I certainly enjoy the thought at times but then my wallet comes along to tell me otherwise. I needed to cover this distance by myself, potential damage to my luggage be damned. The station was at 42nd East, so I figured it shouldn't be that long a walk. In the end, it took me a good twenty minutes to get there.

The place was a lot like I envisioned it. Of course, most of my expectations came from experience on the subject, and shouldn't be too big a surprise. A few helpfully positioned signs lead the way around a massive concrete building with rows of stained window panes, up to a rusty steel door facing the backyard. It wasn't locked, so it had to be the right one. I sort of expected some kind of lobby or foyer to greet me, once inside. Instead I only faced an old staircase, illuminated by dozens of old neon lights, paint breaking off the walls in places. Another helpful sign informed me that the hotel was in fact situated on the eighth floor.

Grimacing, I once again shook the rainwater out of my drenched coat, then proceeded up the first steps. My saddlebags were now ruined for sure, and I'd be damned if I wouldn't catch a cold by tomorrow morning. It was by sheer luck that I hadn't lost anything out on the road. Maybe I just hadn't noticed.

By the time I managed to march up all eight floors, I was panting heavily. The dampness in my coat had drained all the energy from my limbs. There had been an elevator at the entrance, but it didn't work. I hadn't actually tried it, but doing so would be a waste of time in any case. Elevators never worked in these kinds of places.

I could only hope that the hotel itself would still be in business. I hadn't met anyone else while trotting upstairs, which left me with a slightly discouraging feeling in my chest. Of course, the landings between floors also looked nice and cozy to some degree. Hopefully, I thought, I wouldn't actually have to make use of them to spend the night. While sleeping on the stairs seemed a lot more pleasant than heading back out into the pouring rain, it really wasn't what I'd come here for in the first place.

I got lucky. Another steel door would meet me upstairs, unlocked much like its equivalent below. The room beyond it was anything but classy, still I wasn't one to complain about it.

It was kind of a long, empty hallway, about thirty feet in length and a good ten to twelve feet wide. On the far end, it seemed, the room took a turn to the left. A bent wooden door led on ahead from there. There was a counter to my right, likely the reception. A tan coated mare with a bored expression sat at a desk on the other side. Engrossed in some sort of crossword puzzle, she took a few seconds to notice me standing there. In fact, she likely wouldn't have noticed me at all, hadn't it been for the sound of the door slamming close behind me.

"Need a room?" she asked, peering up towards me. Her eyes reflected all emotions but enthusiasm.

I tried to force a smile. "I'd like that five bits a week treatment, please."

Saying so, I already reached for my bags, then placed the coins onto the counter between us. The mare nodded. She took my money without anything further to add, then reached for something below for a second. Eventually, she returned to my sight with a small, rusty key between her teeth. It had a plaque attached, bearing the number 213 on one side. Somepony had scribbled it on there with a black marker, a while back. She dropped it onto the same spot where my bits had been a second ago.

"Comes with a bathroom," she explained. "Try not to use too much water while you're at it. Your room is on the upper floor; there's a staircase leading up to it down the corridor, just around the corner. Upstairs, yours is the third door to the left. Dining room's up ahead from here, breakfast each morning from seven to ten. Any questions?"

I shook my head in response. "Nah, I'm good." The mare went back to her puzzle.

Somehow, she didn't even want to know my name. Which was just as well, since I've never been particularly proud of it. I guess anyone born into a family called _Punch_ would try to be subtle about it. I wasn't so sure about my parents, but neither had I been around them for a good three or four years at this point.

Following the mare's instructions, I wouldn't take long to find the room I was looking for. The concerning door had the number 213 in brass letters attached to it, except for the 2, which was missing. The outline could still be seen though, and every room on this floor started with the same number, so it was easy to make out.

My room was decorated scarcely, but it contained all I needed. It even had a window facing outside. There was an old bed with a frame made of steel pipes, and a desk situated right below said window. A wooden stool was placed in front of it. There was a simple light bulb hanging from the ceiling, held up by nothing but the wires that also powered it. I activated a nearby switch, and lo and behold, the lights actually worked! There was another door to my left.

I quickly closed the entrance door, then dropped my ragged saddlebags, and rushed to take a look at my bathroom. Luckily, there even was a bathtub in here. I would have thanked Celestia for the occasion, hadn't I given up on that sort of admiration a long time ago. I still didn't hesitate to turn on the hot water, and have the entire basin fill up to the top. The only other thing on my mind right now were my saddlebags, but I decided to have their condition drag me down at some other time.

As the tub was only halfway full, I gently placed one hoof after another into the steaming hot water. Ignoring the heat, I slowly but steadily submerged myself into the almost boiling liquid. I didn't really care about the temperature. It was nothing compared to the wonderful sensation of a whole week's worth of sweat and dirt lifting themselves off of my coat all at once.

I sighed in relief as the warmth slowly engulfed me on all sides. Maybe nice things still existed in this world, after all.


	2. Work Hard, Get Paid

Of all the things I previously predicted about the place, one certainly turned out to be true. The coffee during breakfast really did taste like donkey piss. Not that I ever tasted anything similar to compare it to, but this coffee got me as close as my imagination ever wanted to carry me. Which likely stopped short of the real deal.

Apart from breakfast, Monday mornings in Manehattan seemed to be alright. I felt more motivated than I usually did at the beginning of the week. I woke up as early as six in the morning, the thought of actually doing something with my life constantly in the back of my head. It was more of an irrational idea, and I had the same feeling every time I came to a new city. It hadn't worked out for me in the past though, which kept me thinking critically.

After getting up, I tucked yesterday's paper between my teeth, and headed downstairs for a bite to eat. They didn't provide any toothbrushes anywhere around here it seemed, so I just had to use the one I took from some other place a few weeks ago. I don't know whether they had wanted to keep it or not, but neither could I imagine why anyone would do that. The thought sounded repulsive, even to me.

Breakfast was pretty much like I was used to have it. They had some baskets full of oats and apples, along with the coffee that tasted like donkey piss. I sat down at a lone table in the room's far corner, hoping to remain alone for the rest of my meal. I was sort of longing for some solitude right now, especially since none of the ponies in this place made me feel very eager to engage in a conversation. I figured I'd somehow gotten myself into another wastebasket for all sorts of freeloaders and town drunks, who wanted to spend at least one night in a bit of dignity. As I always did. Of course I had probably become one of them ages ago, even if I didn't like to admit that. I held the newspaper up to my face shortly after sitting down, hoping everyone in the room would take the hint that I wasn't one to talk, right now.

I think I got that working for me just fine. At least, nopony approached me for a good while. I skipped the daily news, and started looking for job ads instead. Every halfway decent paper usually had a whole page filled with those, almost all the time. And the _Times_ wouldn't disappoint me, although I had to skip through the largest section of the paper before getting there.

I didn't have a pen with me. I used to have one, but I couldn't find it when looking for it this morning. What I did find was a torn piece of cardboard at the bottom of my left saddlebag, joining the hole that had already appeared below. Most likely, the pen had gotten lost somewhere along the way. Which was just as well, only I couldn't circle any ads that interested me, as I normally would do at this point. This way, I simply had to go with whatever appealed to me first. I found one, and it looked good enough.

The third ad in from the bottom seemed like the most appealing one. I always start reading them from the bottom, I don't know why. Probably because these would be most likely to accept me. Companies who paid most always got the top spots, meaning the lowest ones also had the lowest standards. Which, in turn, meant that they most likely couldn't afford anything better than me. Anyway, number three was the first one that really caught my eye. The other two didn't apply to me in the first place. Those were about some manual trash, and they always only look for stallions in those jobs. Because they've got more physical strength, I think. I don't know. I don't really agree with it, either. But there's nothing I can do about common misconceptions.

The third one wasn't like them, though. It mentioned something about cardboard packages. The company behind it apparently produced and shipped those, and they needed somepony to help with packing the packages...into other packages. So they could be sent overseas or whatever. Despite my recent experiences with cardboard, I decided to give it a try. The address provided wasn't so far off, either. Only about six or seven blocks away. I could have taken a cab, but I didn't want to. I never used any means of transport more expensive than my own hooves, except maybe for long distances.

After successfully memorizing the address, I drowned the last bit of my coffee. The sour taste it left on my tongue made me feel sick even more. I briefly returned to my room to rinse my mouth with tap water, then headed out afterwards. With a bit of luck I thought, I could already run a full shift today.

The packaging company was located in a small factory building on West 34th. The pony running the business was a greasy, old stallion somewhere in his late fifties. I figured retirement and everything attached to it would come for him sooner or later. Probably sooner, judging from some of his more noticeable tastes.

First off, he was a heavy smoker. The walls in his office had faded to a sickening taint of yellow near the ceiling, and a constant stench of tobacco made the room feel even more of a confinement than it already was. I supposed the only way to remove the smell would be blowing the whole place to smithereens or something. He made sure to keep it coming, too. Even as I came in, he was seated behind his desk with a thick, brown cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth. He gave me a disconcerting look as I waltzed in.

"Bringing in the mail?" he asked. "What happened to the other guy? Did he get sick again, the good-for-nothing piece of garbage?"

"I'm not the mailmare," I retorted, somewhat professionally. Whatever that even meant. "I just wanted to ask if that ad from the papers is still valid. The one you posted the other day."

His features lit up. "Ah! This is about the job. Yes, yes. Of course, it's still available." He motioned to the chair opposite from himself. "Why don't you sit down, and we'll discuss the matter?"

I did.

"Now, since you've gone through our ad, I trust you already have an idea what your task within our humble organization would be. Still, I would be glad if you could tell me a few things about yourself. Future partners should know the worst about each other." He wandered off for a moment, giggling at his own joke. At least that's what he probably tried to do. Halfway through, he began to violently choke on his own breath, sending blue smoke flare out of his nostrils and into my face. It wasn't a big surprise, really. If I had to sit in this room every day, I'd probably be suffocating after less than a week. That being said, he did make an astonishingly quick recovery.

"Well...now, where were we?" He leaned forward, did his best to look professional. "Ah, yes. I suggest we start with a few basic things, Miss..."

"Punch. Berry Punch." I did my best not to roll my eyes as I told him. The old stallion showed little to no reaction, but I could tell it wasn't what he expected. Of course not. If only they didn't have to ask for my name first, every time.

"Oh, uh...well..." he stuttered, unable to compensate whether I was being serious or just making fun of him, it seemed. "...well, that's just as well. Rhombus Dodger, nice to meet you. Tell me, Miss Punch, what kind of job experiences are you bringing along? Something similar to our field?"

"It contains a broad variety of fields," I replied. Something that was much of an automatic response by now. One that always worked, especially in interviews. It also sounded a lot better than 'I'm a mess who has no clue what to do with my life.' The stallion still arched an eyebrow at my response.

"A broad variety, you say?" he said. "That _is_ a pretty general term, if I may say so. Could you...maybe elaborate on that a bit?"

"Oh, well. Where to start?" I lamented, with the tiniest bit of an ironic undertone. "I consider myself an artist of sorts. As such, I've worked in all sorts of industries, with all sorts of different ponies. Inspiration comes in the strangest places, I always say."

"An artist?"

"Yes. I paint. Expressionism and Neon-Avantgarde, to be precise. I especially prefer drawing landscapes. The more photogenic, the better. They really capture the essence of a pony's soul from its innermost circles."

The stallion deadpanned at my description. Much like most ponies I met in positions like his, he hadn't the slightest idea what I was talking about. And to be fair, I didn't have a clue, either. I'm actually pretty sure neither of those two art styles have anything to do with landscapes. Maybe they weren't even connected to painting at all.

There was one thing about my words that was true, however. I really had some experience in bringing the art of nature on a piece of canvas. Said experience might be limited to a picture of a tree I did in fifth grade, but it still earned me the highest grade in my class. In short, there had to be some sort of talent here, didn't there?

"Well...fantastic," Mr Dodger eventually continued. "Fantastic, no, really. I really do prefer to work with ponies who can envision themselves doing great things. Ponies like you tend to be much more motivated with what they're doing."

I suppose that was one way of looking at things. And it seemed to go pretty well for me, so I decided to move along with it.

"You _do_ have a vision, don't you, miss Punch?"

I snapped out of my thoughts. What did he even mean by that?

"Oh, of course," I replied, nevertheless. "Ponies sometimes tell me I could never be destined to go far in life because I don't have a proper education. But that kind of doubt is just all the more motivating. The more ponies there are doubting me today, the more faces I will have to laugh into, once I make it to the top. So, yes, I do have a vision. And I'm sure that together, we can make it happen. My artistic vision combined with your expertise in running a business, I mean. This job I'm applying for might be simple now, but it can get both of us far up, that much I can tell you!"

I couldn't believe the words coming out of my own mouth. To be honest, had anypony else said them, I probably would have laughed at how ridiculous everything about it just sounded. But not him. Silent fascination was almost spilling over from his eyes, as he intently followed every further syllable I added. To be honest, no other employer of mine had ever made such a fuss about the simple lie I used as an excuse to cover up the actual mess my life was. Maybe, I thought, coming here wasn't such a good idea, after all.

"Well, I don't know about that," he finally added after due moments of consideration. "But you certainly are a motivated pony, and that's just what we're looking for! Plus, I don't see any competition lining up anytime soon. So I'd say: Congratulations! You got the job."

He extended one hoof across the table. It was the same with which he'd occasionally pour his cigar ashes into the nearby tray.

I felt somewhat hesitant to accept the hoofshake. But I also needed the money, so I did it, anyway.

"I'm ready to begin at any time," I added. The sooner I got a full pay the better, after all.

Mr Dodger nodded, seemingly pleased with my partly sincere enthusiasm. "Good. Very good. We'll just fill out a few forms real quick, and then we're good to go. The boys down at the line will show you how everything works. Just go down the stairs outside, and tell them you're the new kid."

He shoved a paper over to my side, along with a pen. Seeing the latter, I immediately felt reminded about the pen that I'd lost earlier. Which brought to mind several ways of acquiring this one. They were all illegal of course, and they would cost me any chance I had in receiving this job, so I dismissed them without further thought. Instead, I filled out the personal information he needed for whatever reason, then got ready to head out. Although I did notice a slight inconsistency while doing so. The form clearly stated something about a nine to five job. And yet, it was still only eight-thirty.

I knew this had been a bad idea. Starting off with unpaid overtime always was. And I already needed to fight the urge to call him names.

But I reconsidered and kept my mouth shut. I still needed his money, after all.


	3. The Fruits of One's Labor

The job turned out to be even more mundane than I expected. When reading about packing packages in the paper, I thought of it as some play on words or a local inside joke, maybe. It wasn't. I literally had to work with packages of two different sizes, unfold the largest, put about twenty of the smaller ones inside, then seal the large one with some tape and move on to the next.

It still felt like a sick prank on the city's hard working lowlifes, but at least the payment seemed right. According to contract, I'd receive a solid six-hundred each month. Before I was going to judge the entire deal, I'd first have to see on how consistent the money kept flowing in this place.

There were two other ponies on the line with me, a mare and a stallion. Why our employer earlier referred to them as _the boys_ was beyond me, but I didn't mind. I didn't really bother to learn their names either. Chances were, I wouldn't ever need to call them over for anything. And neither I couldn't find anything particularly interesting that made me want to talk to them. The mare was a good deal older than me, and the stallion despite being about my age, wasn't a very talkative one himself.

What I did care about was getting paid. And at times something which rhymes with that, somehow. Eight hours of pointless labor a day it was then. Lunch break was just about long enough to get one or two daisy sandwiches chewed up at the cafe across the block. More importantly, it meant thirty valuable minutes each day that I didn't have to spend doing something that bored me to death. And all of us could still go home at five, so I guess the job was really only seven and a half hours. Not every one of them comes with that kind of privilege, and I tried my best to recognize and cherish it. I really did.

I kept going and pulled through, telling myself how the paycheck would justify the means. Three full days, I went on like that. For these three days, I played the part of the happy little citizen the kingdom likes to appreciate. Doing their job, getting their pay, building a better future. Something like that.

When my shift ended on Wednesday night however, I decided I deserved some recognition for keeping up the good work. A self-proclaimed pat on the shoulder, so to speak. I had finished off more than two-hundred package packages that week, and I already felt sick by just looking at them. If I weren't so lethargic, I'd have wondered what in Equestria ever happened to each of these after I finished them. But I didn't care.

There was a liquor store about halfway between work and the hotel which naturally I had to pass by twice every day. I would take a few curious peaks at it each time, and they constantly reminded me of the incredible drought in my throat which grew more and more unbearable with every passing minute and day. All the while, I tried to resist it. Save up some money, an ancient instinct from a time long gone told me. Build a future for yourself, you dense hag. I tried listening to that. I really did.

It wasn't until Wednesday evening that I decided to take a look around inside, just for the hell of it. If they specialized on any beverages that were halfway decent, I'd always have the excuse of not being able to afford them. Else, I'd have to think of something else. Either way, I promised myself this thing or that, walking in. That it wouldn't take me too long. It ended up taking me almost an hour. In the end I ended up wasting the last of my cash on two bottles of white wine. I think it had been bottled three years earlier, but it might have said four or five. I'm not sure why I bought the stuff, or even why I needed two bottles instead of just one. Probably because I couldn't think of anything more useful to spend my money on.

I went straight on home from there, both bottles tucked into a brown paper bag, which was dangling from my mouth. It seemed like the most reasonable thing to do. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything, now without any money left. Anything's just about everything that won't come for free in Manehattan. No, I decided I'd rather go home and cherish what I already paid for.

My stomach started rumoring as I entered the building. I hadn't eaten anything all day, safe for the scarce breakfast this morning and the sandwiches for lunch. I tried to ignore the hunger for now, seeing as the wine would somehow get me through the evening. I had no idea how many calories either of these bottles contained, but they should be sufficient. Then again, they only had me covered for tonight. After that, I would quickly lack the means to get any more food, safe for breakfast. And even that would only last until Sunday. After that, my week in the hotel that I'd paid for would be over already.

Seeing it from this perspective, my earlier decisions might have been a little short-sighted.

I shrugged off the thought, and proceeded up the stairs. I had managed to spot an out of order sign on the ground floor the day before, which told me that the elevator really was broken. Staircase it was, then. Eight floors, each and every day. But compared to this new job of mine, the habit of charging up an endless spiral of stairs didn't cause too much of a disturbance in my daily routine.

When I arrived on the eighth, I greeted the mare at the counter with a simple nod. At least, I tried to do that. She didn't look up from whatever it was she was currently working on, so she probably hadn't even noticed me. I initially wanted to speak up and greet her out loud as a result. But I figured I'd just be making an idiot out of myself, and kept going on ahead. As always, I hardly met anypony else out in the hallways. In this place, it seemed like nopony ever left their room for mere socializing. If someone walked to and fro across the corridors, they were either headed out or going to have breakfast. Neither of which was the case right now.

I headed straight for my room, where I tossed the bag with my shopping items on the bed. I first thought about taking another bath, but I didn't really feel like it. I don't know why. Sometimes, I'm just not into things which I'd otherwise enjoy. Which may sound weird, but that's the way it is.

Turning back towards my latest purchase instead, I fumbled around my saddlebags for a good five minutes or so, in search of my corkscrew. I always carried one of those around with me. They can come in handy pretty much whenever, but mostly when it comes to opening bottles. And that was where the challenge lay at the moment. An exhale of relief left my muzzle when I finally found it between all the other trash. I already thought I'd lost that, too. Good thing I hadn't.

Without further ado, I fell back onto my haunches, back gently rested against my mattress. I pulled one of the bottles out of its bag, then got to work on it right after. It's easy to feel jealous about unicorns at times like these. With all their magical abilities, they probably wouldn't even have to use a tool. They could just do a little pulling-thing with their horn, no damage done. Yet here I was, clenching the screw between my teeth, while slowly and carefully turning the bottle counter-clockwise direction, my jaws pushing down on it.

Again, the whole procedure though successful it was, must have looked incredibly stupid. I always feel like a moron with things that would be so much easier to handle with telekinesis. Surely, there were perks to being an earth pony, but I failed to see them. There also were some ponies who told me I should embrace the special connection to the earth beneath our hooves, which my race particularly enjoys. I don't know how I'm supposed to even work with that. And I couldn't care less, I think.

Given years of experience, it took me less than a few more seconds to unscrew the bottle. In any case, I didn't need to let any more precious time go to waste. I spat out the corkscrew, then lifted the bottle to the height of my face. Gently then, I started tilting it towards my muzzle, until finally my lips connected with the cold glass.

There are no words describing that glorious, glorious feeling when the first droplets of sweet grape juice pour down on the tongue, followed by a gentle stream that kept ever coming. I felt a shiver run along my spine, as they began dripping down my throat. It wasn't even the kind of shiver a pony gets whenever they're cold. It felt pretty good, and...satisfying, I guess. An amazing catharsis with only the most terrible undertones of disappointment and self-loathing. Ignoring the latter was always the hardest part.

I kept going, gulping down the wine bit by bit. Before I even noticed, I'd already finished half the bottle. Which is why I looked at it with some surprise putting it back down. Of course, at this point I hadn't had a drink in...what? One week? Maybe two? I really couldn't remember. Thanks to my empty stomach, I already felt dizzy as well, and decided I'd rather raise myself up onto the bed, just in case. Never spilling a single drop along the way was still my first priority.

Somehow, I managed to accomplish just that. Again, it might as well be that some of it spilled over, and I just didn't notice. Once on the bed, I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. The radiant light coming from the bulb made me squint a few times as it hurt my eyes, but I got used to it after a minute or so. All the while the bottle rested gently beside me, one of my forelegs carefully wrapped around its neck. In a slow and somewhat tired motion, I tilted my head over to look at it for a moment.

For some odd reason, I smiled at it, absently murmuring, "One of us is gonna be the death of the other, ain't that so? But I'm gonna do you first." I have no idea what that was supposed to mean, whether it was meant to be deep or whatever. Mostly I just ignored sudden outbursts like this one. Instead, I finished the rest of the wine.

I'm not so sure what happened next. I think my hoof's grip around the bottle eventually loosened, and at some point, it just rolled over the edge of the mattress and dropped onto the rug below. Whatever. The floor wasn't in such a good state itself. For a while then, I simply kept lying on my back and continued to stare up at the ceiling, my breath going calm and relaxed. I tried to figure out what the next decent plan of action would be, but my brain didn't seem all too eager to cooperate.

Of course, when the rational mind can't figure out what to do, it's sometimes just basic instinct that takes over. As was the case in this specific situation, when part of me began longing for a very different kind of climax, and I knew I had to leave the hotel and find someone to help me out with that. My features fell into a stupid grin as I realized what was going on, and even that took me a few seconds.

I tried to sit up and reach over towards my lap with a hoof, only for my head to drop right back onto the mattress. I tried again. And again. It was no use. Whenever I got anywhere near an upright position, the world started to spin all around, sending me straight back down. I can't remember exactly, but I think I didn't like that very much.

Unable to think of anything else, I turned around onto my belly, then buried my face into the pillow with all the frustration I could muster. As much as I hated to admit it, it seemed that treating my basic natural urges had to wait for another day. I really didn't enjoy the thought, but I couldn't change the facts. Or maybe I could, and a proper solution just slipped my mind, right now.

Lying there motionlessly, I took solace in the prospect that, maybe sometime around the weekend, I'd run into some halfway decent stallion willing to do me. I don't know. I kinda felt like I needed that right now. Of course, a mare can always take care of business herself whenever she's not as intoxicated. Even if it wasn't the most elegant solution. I'd have asked around in the hotel too, but I didn't really feel like doing any smelly homeless pony...thing...stuff...

My thoughts were starving somewhere around that point. I turned my head to the right in order to be able to breathe properly. I slowly drifted off to sleep then, the lights still on. In my current state it didn't really matter.

Somewhere along the way, I decided that I really did hate this town.


	4. Just Business

I woke up to a stinging pain in my head, a burning hatred for myself, and the near irresistible urge to throw up. A short glimpse at the time told me it was already two in the afternoon. When I got up despite my legs being all wobbly and hardly able to sustain my weight, I already thought it couldn't get any worse. However, a sour pulp would rise up in my throat, thus instantly proving me wrong. In a sense of panic, I leaped off the bed, and raced clear across the room. Crashing through the bathroom door, I bowed my head over the toilet just in time to empty the contents of my stomach into it. There was hardly anything solid there, so it didn't take too long.

At least it didn't go onto the carpet, I told myself. The whole place didn't look very well insured, and I probably couldn't afford to pay for the damage.

As soon as I was done, I turned around and awkwardly shuffled back towards my bed. Once there, I climbed on top and fell to my side almost immediately. My head and neck felt like somepony psuhed a screwdriver through them. The things I would have given then for a glass of water. Which did exist, downstairs in the kitchen. And to reach that I'd have to get up and cross at least two hallways and a staircase, neither of which I felt too sure about at the moment.

My thoughts from last night came back to me then, and another frown passed my face at the ideas I had. Drunk me can get a bit misleading, I suppose. Usually I'm nowhere near being this desperate. True, I don't really hesitate to get my natural desires fulfilled whenever I feel like doing so and when presented with the proper opportunity. But I like to remain level-headed in the situation, so I can tell what's going on at the very least.

By the time my headache receded and I was able to grasp any sort of useful thought, time had processed to four-thirty in the afternoon. Which meant my shift would be almost over, and there was nothing I could do about it, now. I don't know. Some workplaces allow their employees to call in sick a couple days late, even. All I needed was a good excuse. Mr Dodger didn't seem the smart kind, anyway.

For now, I was left alone with my own miserable feelings. That wasn't so good. I really didn't have anything else to do, and a sense of gnawing hunger already made itself noticeable around my stomach. Now, I would have headed out for some sightseeing, then grabbed some junk food along the way, but there were several problems with that. First, I was still broke. Second, I didn't give a damn about any famous places or something of the like, no matter how amazing any of them were said to be. It's just not my field of interest.

Realizing there wasn't anything for me to do in my room except maybe drown in self-pity, I decided to grab my keys and head out nonetheless. I didn't know where I'd be going, but neither did I see any thing else to do. When I came trotting out of the hotel's backyard and out onto the street, I spontaneously decided to head south. For no particular reason, that was. I turned the possibilities over in my head, of which there were naturally only four in a city like this one, and south happened to be my weapon of choice in that particular moment.

For a long time then, I was alone with my thoughts. Apart from avoiding other pedestrians, I didn't really have to watch out for my environment. There weren't any turns for me to take, either. Apparently, these roads never took any turns, except if you wanted to turn around a corner. Manehattan was one of those cities where the streets all just form a homogeneous, boring grid. The broad, grayish sidewalk goes on and on for miles, with no end ever in sight. Eventually, I lost track of time. But it must have been a good two hours until the street finally stopped continuing on ahead.

The sun was setting in the west by now, drowning the entire peninsula in some kind of semi-twilight made up from the long shadows of buildings and a few, narrow lanes of sun rays made possible by the streets in between. When gazing out onto the water, I thought I could spot the Statue of Friendship in the distance. That at least gave me an approximate idea where in the city I ended up. Because that's where Friendship Island lay, south of mainland Manehattan. For once, there was a fact from grade school I could actually recall.

For a while then, I pondered my options. I didn't really know where to go from here, and a bad hunch told me that I might easily get lost in the city's maze, despite the rather simple way they structured its outline. It's not like I cared all that much, but I would prefer to sleep in my own bed tonight rather than...some other place. I didn't want to head straight back, either. Not right now, anyway. That would be kind of a bummer. And depressing, too. I really didn't need that.

I decided to take a look at a nearby tourist stand, instead. My interest wasn't so much about the souvenirs, but they also offered boat trips over to the island, apparently. I don't know what I'd do over there, either. Except for looking at a giant copper statue, of course. I wondered how many pennies it could be turned into. Not enough for me to retire, probably.

It didn't matter either way. When approaching, I also noticed how they charged two bits per passenger. So there went those plans of mine.

It was no use. None of it ever was. I turned back around without further comment, then headed back down the street I came from. I can't recall its name, I really can't. But it probably didn't even have one. None of the streets or addresses in this town had any names, just numbers. That, and the slight distinction between streets and avenues. In all honesty, I was surprised to see that at least the ponies in this place still had actual names to themselves, instead of assigned numbers. Or maybe they hadn't, and I just didn't realize that. Maybe they didn't realize it.

I don't know. I really don't.

By the time I arrived back at the hotel it was a little past nine in the evening. For some reason, the streets were still crowded, even now. In most places around Equestria, this would be the time where most ponies either go to sleep, or turn on their radios for the evening report or something. Around nine or ten, a city would generally turn itself over to the soft, velvet blanket of night. The one that Celestia's long lost sister once created for all of us to enjoy, I think that was. She had a name too. I'm pretty sure she did.

Manehattan didn't go to sleep, it seemed. Then again, Manehattan wasn't truly a city either. It was more like a grotesquely painted carnivorous metropolis; one that simultaneously produced and devoured everyone and everything within it. Places like these didn't sleep. And I hated them.

I turned the lights on when stepping back inside my room. It certainly wasn't something I enjoyed, given the bright light blinded me for a second, and sent another aching arrow of pain searing through my skull. But I didn't want to stumble across anything my clumsy self might break in the process. Never sleeping surroundings or not, the street lights sure didn't reach up all eight floors.

Clueless on how to waste the rest of my evening, I kept pointlessly fooling around the place for another hour or so. Eventually I got tired of even that. I literally got tried from it. And driven by that weariness, I quickly downed my second bottle of wine and went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up at about eleven. It had to be Friday then, I believe. And only about six hours to my first weekend in Manehattan. I had no idea on how I was supposed to spend it, but at least those two days might give me some time to think. About what, I didn't know. Before heading out for work, I rounded up a few leftovers from breakfast, altogether avoiding the coffee. At about twelve, I arrived at the company grounds. Mr Dodger immediately called me into his office when I got there.

"May I know where you've been these past two days, Miss Punch?" he asked. Of course he did. "You seemed like somepony who could manage quite well when it comes to organizing a rather straightforward schedule. At least you did when first coming into my office on Monday. But success requires some basic consistency. Surely, you have some reasonable explanation for your absence."

All of a sudden, he sounded all business-like. Serious, too. I already didn't like his approach on Monday, but I think I disliked it even more now. Even worse, I now had to talk to him, and spent more time in his stinking office. I had wanted to come up with an excuse on my way here, but I couldn't think of anything. Well, actually I wanted to do all that yesterday night. But then I sort of forgot and drank a whole bottle of white wine. Naturally, I didn't come up with anything useful after that. In short, I figured I might as well tell the truth, and hope for the best.

"There is. I got drunk and overslept." I said it in the most monotone voice I could muster.

Judging from Mr Dodger's reaction, the best wasn't going to end very well. Not for me, anyway. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. I don't even want to start describing the smell that came streaming out of his muzzle. Chances are, I'd lack the vocabulary to do so in any case.

"That's not how it works, girl. You should know that." He shook his head. "I tend to let some minor inconsistencies slide with ponies whom I've known for a longer time. Ponies I can trust. But this? I'm sorry, but I don't see myself employing someone acting this way right from the start."

I scowled. "So, I won't have to call in on Monday, then?"

"You really, really won't," he replied in a slightly annoyed tone. His eyes narrowed, while both rows of yellowish teeth kept munching on his cigar. It was a disgusting sight, but I still needed his money.

"What would be my pay for the five days I've worked here, then?"

"Five days?" he snorted. "I think what you meant to say is three days. And your pay for those adds up to precisely eighty-five bits. That's all. No more, no less. I don't see why I should pay you for days on which you don't even show up at your workplace."

Having said so, he slammed an envelope onto the desk between us, then leaned back in his chair, again. I peeked inside, checked for its ingredients, and was happy to find four green paper slips resting next to each other. That was something. I would have made an argument about getting a bonus for the time I had to endure his presence today, but my better conscience decided against that. I also really didn't want to push my luck. Instead, I took the envelope between my teeth and trotted out. I tried to mumble some sort of goodbyes in between the paper, but it probably didn't sound very convincing. In any case, Mr Dodger briefly raised a hoof to reply and went back to his paperwork.

He might as well, I thought. In a way, I could consider myself a lucky mare never having to set a single hoof into his slimy lair ever again.


	5. Moving On

Here's where my memory gets hazy. After Dodger laid me off, the remainder of the day is a bit of a blank spot in my mind. Unfortunately none of this leaves much room for interpretation about what happened next. I had likely been frustrated to begin with. Because I once again messed up with what was supposed to be a fresh start into a better life. I failed at several attempts before, but it rarely took me less than a single week. That was below average even for my standards.

One silver lining waited for me inside the envelope I received. The amount of cash in there would make several issues go away for some days. All things considered getting them now was much more preferable than having to wait until the end of the month. After all, I had to have something to eat in the meantime.

I got tired of trying to carefully consider what to do with the money I earned at some point, and took another trip to the liquor store. There I bought another bottle of white wine, same brand as on the other day. Since there wasn't any special occasion coming up to actually save it for, I figured I might as well kill the bottle on the go. I kept strolling around the city halfway conscious after that. Like I said, I was having kind of a blackout during most of the afternoon and evening.

Some time around midnight, I ended up back at the hotel. For unknown reasons my eighty-five bits were now down to thirty. I don't even remember where most of them went. There's always the possibility that against my better judgment, I bought some dumb stuff I couldn't afford. It wasn't very likely though. Chances were I just got mugged or something.

Saturday came around and mostly went by without anything too exciting presenting itself. I spent some bits on halfway decent food over the day, although I still went for the free breakfast in the morning. Without the coffee of course. I didn't need caffeine on the weekends, anyway.

Apart from that I really spent most of the day just wandering around again. My plan was to take a few more glimpses at Manehattan, hoping to change my opinion about the city which had been less than favorable so far. I lost my way several times, but I always got myself back on track one way or another. I even visited the Statue of Friendship this time. The little island was so overrun with tourists however, and I didn't stay for much longer than ten minutes or so. Their false enthusiasm bored me.

About the rest of Manehattan I really couldn't find anything interesting to say. I'm not the sort pf pony with a very colorful imagination, but the city wasn't very colorful, either. Safe for the sheer amount of bright, flashing billboards advertising a million things I didn't need, the streets and buildings mostly merged into a dull, homogeneous gray. Most of the concrete skyscrapers looked alike too. The only green spot I found in this maze was a large rectangular park situated more or less right in the city's center. Central Park was what they called it. I really didn't know what I expected.

By the time the evening rolled around again, I'd put a good overall distance of ten to fifteen miles or so behind me. My head felt heavier with each passing minute now, and my legs grew incredibly sore. The day had essentially gone to waste up until then, and I didn't see any reason to do anything productive with my night. I just wanted to get a few drinks at a local bar, then call it a day. Simple as that.

Originally, I still wanted to purchase another edition of the _Manehattan Times_ and look for a new job, but I decided to put that off until Monday. It wasn't too urgent, anyway. After all I still had enough cash to support myself for another few days. Whenever I'd go broke or near-broke, there would be more than enough time for me to think reasonably again.

The place I ended up in was situated in a narrow alleyway, more or less close to my hotel. I only had to walk two or three blocks down the street, I think. That was important to me though; going home after a couple of drinks could be somewhat dangerous in a town as big as this one. But as long as I could make it home within five to ten minutes, there wouldn't be too much to worry about.

Still, I reminded myself that I'd like to keep it to one or two drinks tonight. Not every day has to end in a disaster followed up by humiliating sickness the morning after, mind you. And I already more than fulfilled my hangover quota for this week. There wasn't any need to embarrass myself in public any more than that, is what I kept telling myself.

Did I mention that I've got terrible self control? Because those one or two drinks flowed past me quicker than expected, and my glass ended up empty much sooner than anticipated. Following that unpleasant surprise, I quickly decided to disregard my earlier attitude. That way, one or two turned into three, and three quickly became five.

I wanted to stop after number four, I really did. No matter what, even I sometimes realize it when I've had enough of something. Unfortunately, the bar also hosted a small party of local bigshots or whatever they liked to call themselves; they sure looked the part. One of them had apparently earned himself a promotion earlier that week, which all of them subsequently took as an excuse for some private celebration.

And just when I finished my personal number four, the lucky one announced the next round would be on him. Which meant everyone in the room got served. I never ever turned down a free mug of beer in my life. That was just about the only rule I cared for at the time.

Five it was, then. Paid for by somepony whom I never even met before. But someone who gave out free drinks couldn't be so bad a fellow. Probably. I really couldn't know him after all. Maybe he was somepony worth knowing. Or maybe just another moron trying to make it in the big city. Either way, he still seemed to stand one step ahead of me.

Pretty much out of curiosity, I started introducing myself to one of his friends who was just getting a Martini from the bar. Given my intoxication at the time, that approach most likely went a little less elegant that I originally envisioned it. The stallion didn't seem to mind though. He even figured he might get both of us another round, then stick around and chat a little for whatever reason.

Often enough, I'm not myself when drunk. And that reflected on my current situation just as well as any other. Both of us stayed at the bar for a while, having another drink or maybe two. I don't exactly remember. I recall that at some point I noticed how he was supposedly fairly attractive. For a city like this, I mean. Even though Manehattan males are probably no better or worse than everywhere else. Maybe he wasn't even as good-looking, and that was just the alcohol talking.

In any case, I thought so at the time. One thing led to another, and we ended up doing it inside one of the bathroom stalls in the back. We afterwards discovered that both of us forgot to lock the door. Given the place was unisex that could have lead to a whole bunch of embarrassing confrontations. Luckily it didn't.

He was pretty good at his trade, too. At least he lasted long enough to get both of us satisfied. It makes me kind of sad thinking that a simple thing like this automatically places someone above average. But there's also a lot of selfishness out there. And I should know; I've been left sitting in a puddle of disappointment during more than one of these types of encounters. Figure of speech. Kinda.

When I got back to the hotel much later, the first thing I spotted were my saddlebads. They had tossed them out onto the landing. The lids were open, and the bags' contents lay spread out all over the staircase. I took a good look at them and discovered nothing was gone that I hadn't lost already. Which only helped very little, as long as I still didn't know why all of my stuff was out here instead of safely tucked away inside my room. When I tried opening the door to find out, it wouldn't move. Somepony had locked it from the inside.

That was strange. I could tell as much, even in my drowsy state of mind. This door had never been locked, after all. I tried opening it with the key to my room, but it didn't fit. Mindlessly, I tried to push it in there a few more times before I finally gave up. I fell back onto my haunches, and kept sitting like that for a good five minutes or so, trying to sober up and figure out what had happened. At some point I remembered that some hotels had this policy where Sunday was the first day of the week. Which meant it wouldn't be included in the week before. And that week's pay wouldn't cover it either. It sounded strange still, but it was the only explanation that made at least a bit of sense.

The ponies running the place had never appeared to me as very excited about their job. Still, whoever treated their customers this way didn't seem to be in very desperate need for them. There was no point in complaining about this to anyone really, so I didn't. I gathered up all the items around me and stuffed them back into my saddlebags.

When everything was back where it needed to be, I gave the door one last, pointless glare and headed back downstairs. Before I left the building however, the remaining levels of alcohol in my bloodstream caused me to spin around one last time and shout at the top of my lungs, _"So long, suckers!"_ With a stupid giggle, I headed outside.

It had started raining again. Of course it did. I decided this city wasn't going to be the place for me to begin the rest of my life. For some reason I just wanted to leave right now, I don't know why. The rain probably didn't cause me to think so, but it most definitely was the final nail in the coffin regarding my future in Manehattan. Marching back out onto the street, I turned to the right and headed back towards where I recalled the train station would be.

Since I didn't have anything better to do, I figured I might as well take a trip down the coast to Baltimare. I could pay a short visit to my parents assuming they still lived down there. And I bitterly laughed at the prospect of me gathering the courage to ever speak to them again. Like that would happen. If I could even do as much as look them in the eye, why hadn't I done it years ago instead of wasting all that time moving around all over the place?

It's not like I missed them or anything. The only time I ever felt that way was right after I first ran off. Emotions be damned though, I might just have to come up with some kind of excuse. There had to be something I could come up with. Maybe they'd even be glad to see me after all this time.

Or maybe not, whatever. I wouldn't get myself to see them, anyway. What I was thinking that night didn't have to make sense. I still hadn't completely sobered up yet. When I arrived at the station, I was still drunk enough to not question buying the ticket to Baltimare. Even though I doubted anything useful would come off it.

My enthusiasm received only a minor bummer when I learned what time my train was supposed to leave. They told me I had to wait until six in the morning, but I could do that. For all the terminal building was worth, at least the rain wouldn't bother me in here.

Apart from that, there were more than enough benches in this place. They looked pretty comfy, too. I laid down on one of them, seeing as how I deserved at least a few hours of rest.


	6. Positively Negative

Driving down to Baltimare took me longer than expected. Our train had to take a prolonged break about halfway there because a flock of sheep were blocking the tracks. I'm pretty sure they didn't mean to do that, but that didn't help me in any case. These woolly nutjobs rarely have anything more complex in mind than the grass beneath their hooves or whatever else they find to gobble up. As far as I was concerned, they probably weren't even able to intentionally harm anyone.

This way, we were forced to halt for several hours in the middle of nowhere, and didn't get to our destination before noon. Personally, I didn't mind the delay so much. I wasn't in any hurry, and the more time I spent traveling the longer I could catch some sleep on cushions that were actually somewhat comfortable. These benches that _Equestrian Railways_ installs pretty much all over their vehicles make for a perfect place to nap. I took comfort in that. Unfortunately, the pony sitting opposite to me ended up being late for his job, and couldn't help but rile up everyone else about it.

On any other day, I would have considered his anxious rambling hilarious. Today however all it did was annoy the living Tartarus out of me. He also kept checking his watch and going through his files every thirty seconds or so. Following a good half-hour of our prolonged stay, I constantly had to fight back the urge to slap his stupid, arrogant face.

I didn't, of course. There wasn't any point to it.

Like I said, the train pulled into Balimare North at about noon. I know. It's literally called _northern station,_ and I already started wondering why I ever complained about Manehattan being unoriginal. Anyway, all the tracks coming from up north ended up here, making it the city's main hub of transportation since there weren't any tracks going south. Horseshoe Bay was bordering the city to the south, so there were only connections by boat leaving in that direction

Three thoughts came to my mind, as I stumbled out of the comparatively humble building that was North's terminal, and out onto the square. First, I needed to keep an eye out for anypony who might still remember and recognize me. It had been ages since my last visit, but I did grow up here, after all. Second, I had to recall the quickest path from here to my parents' house. Third, I needed a place to take a dump. Luckily, the train station provided for that last one. The only thing about it which infuriated me was the fee of one bit they charged, but what can you do.

My parents lived on the northern edge of town, more or less nearby. Although covering the distance there would take me a while, I could still easily cover it on hoof. A short glance at a public map of the local surroundings helped me recall the path. Another five minutes or so, and I was firmly on my way.

It wasn't as simple to find your way around in this town as it would have been in most cities. A lot of towns around Equestria only consisted of streets that interlocked at right angles. I don't know why. I think it's something about them being created artificially, but I might be wrong. That didn't account for Baltimare, in any case. Over here the streets were arranged a little more complicated than just a simple rectangular grid. Or to be more precise, they were a complete and total mess. Safe maybe for the neighborhoods around the harbor, but I never went there, anyway. The industrial quarters in the south weren't the nicest place to be around, and that's putting it mildly.

Given I never had the greatest skills of orientation, it was a mere miracle that I found my folks' place without ever having to despair or cry out for help. Then again, I've only walked most of these streets a billion times or so. Childhood habits do seem to pay off, I suppose.

At some point I could tell I was entering the suburbs I grew up in. Coming back here made me feel a bit nostalgic in the beginning, but that pretty much stopped after I realized how the place had seemingly lost nothing of its former, stuck-up self. It's awful, really. Most neighborhoods in northern Baltimore are these kinds of communities. In here, the lawn in a pony's front yard always had to be neatly trimmed, at a height of five millimeters at max. Lights-out was precisely at ten, and if you ever failed to check your mailbox in two or three days, someone would probably call law enforcement or an ambulance or something.

The closer I got to the house, the more I started to keep an eye out for any curious bystanders. Of all the ponies in Baltimare who might still recognize me, there were many whom I really didn't want to do that. I had my reasons to avoid them.

Speaking of which, I didn't see the point in coming here, and part of me already knew this was the dumbest thing I could possibly go through with. It wasn't going to end well, no matter what. Especially since I wasn't going to see my parents, anyway. Any minute now I'd turn back around and make a run for it, that much I could tell.

Except I didn't. I have no idea why but I just kept going. Probably because I didn't try to think about it too much. Sure, I was nervous. Scared even. But mostly I concentrated on trying to spot ponies first who didn't need to spot me. The thought of seeing my parents again only occupied a small spot in the very back of my mind. Mostly because I pushed it there. If I wasn't going to see them anyway, what was there for me to worry about? There was also still a long way ahead of me, I kept telling myself. Times and again, I did. Up to the point when I found myself standing on that very familiar porch, and all my mind tricks effectively stopped working.

I gulped hard, seeing the beige cottage stand before me again after all those years. I thought I'd left this place for good. Everything I'd been putting off since then came crashing back onto me. Without any warning, I started shaking all over, my breath was going ragged, beads of sweat appeared all over my forehead and temples.

It was somewhere around that time that I completely lost control. I didn't know what I was thinking anymore, and I just started acting from instinct. One of my numb forelegs rose up seemingly all by itself. I don't know. I didn't really, consciously make it do that. After a second or so, my hoof started hovering at the height of the doorbell, shaking uncontrollably.

I closed my eyes, telling myself another ten-thousand times just how crazy all of this actually was. And how I wasn't going to see them. How I could still avoid all this if only I just walked away right now, before anyone could see me. Then, with a deep exhale and without even looking I leaned forward until my hoof connected with the cold, brass knob.

The ring that came from inside sounded like the bell to my own funeral. It wasn't the same sound like when I last lived here, but I didn't even realize that right away. I felt light-headed. My heart pounded inside my chest like a sledgehammer, and my rib cage felt like it was about to explode. I didn't believe in any deity to say a prayer to, but in moments like this I really wished I did.

I kept trying to find a way out of this mess. I could still make a run for it without being seen...probably. They wouldn't answer the door for another few seconds, but it wouldn't take any longer than that. With every moment that I kept hesitating, my chances for escape grew weaker. Eventually, I knew it wasn't going to work. None of it was.

Time went and passed, every new second feeling like an hour. After a short while, I became impatient. I didn't know how long it took, but it felt much too long. Maybe they saw me and wouldn't open up? For all I knew they probably weren't even home.

That must be it, I told myself. They weren't here, and that's why nopony would answer me. And in all honesty, why would anyone be here right now? It was a Sunday after all, wasn't it? They probably went for a walk in the park, they always did. _We_ always did. I felt pretty sure about that. Maybe they went out to get some ice cream for...for...

Right.

I almost jumped back when the door creaked open a minute later. I felt my mouth open slightly, although my teeth remained clenched together and my throat felt incredibly dry. Given my clearly visible sense of panic, it probably wasn't that much of a surprise when the pony who opened gave me a rather incredulous look.

He was a scarlet-coated unicorn stallion, a good ten years older than me. I noticed his race not so much due to his horn, but mostly from the stupid pink coffee mug hovering beside him in mid-air. He was dressed in some sort of equally stupid morning gown, and looked like he was ready to exorcise extreme caution. Or something. In any case I couldn't remember ever seeing him ever before, and he certainly wasn't related to me.

"Can I help you?" the stallion asked. His voice was full of mistrust which I could tell he was only trying to hide out of politeness. I'm pretty sure I must have looked like a complete and total creep, staring at him like I'd gone mad. He seemed to agree with me on that point, judging from the way he returned my looks.

"Lady, I have no idea who you are, but this is ridiculous." He frowned, placing his mug onto a nearby desk. "I don't want to buy anything, and I don't want to join any religious group or anything. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to enjoying my day off."

"No, wait!" I exclaimed as he started shutting the door again. The stallion slightly rolled his eyes in response.

"Yes?"

"I...I'm looking for...I mean...meaning..." Clenching my eyes shut with frustration then, I sighed. "Ugh...do you know where I can find Mr or Mrs Punch?"

I could only cringe at the name, as always. After all these years, one would think I'd have gotten used to it, but I still hated my guts for being associated with a word like that. At least he seemed to remember it. The stallion's features lit up to some degree, and some of his hostility was clearly lost in the process.

"Oh...well, I haven't been asked that in a while now," he explained, suddenly a bit unsure. "But truth is...and you've probably guessed, but...they don't live here, anymore."

I felt my heart rate drop at his words. That couldn't be so good. "Well, then, uh..." I started stuttering again. Awesome. "...any idea where they went?"

He shook his head in response. "No, not really. I got this place through an agent, so we never actually met. If it weren't for the neighbors, I wouldn't even know their name." He slightly lowered his voice, craning his neck to get a bit closer to me. "From what I've heard, they weren't exactly a happy family, either. But I can't say why. I'm not one for prying into others' business."

"Oh, y-yeah, right," I replied with a weak chuckle, my voice starting to shake. "Probably wasn't worth knowing about any...anyway."

I tried to cover up my own idiotic emotions somehow. Yet all I felt was terrifyingly, horribly sad and full of desperation. I had told myself time and again how I didn't miss my folks. But I always thought we could, and probably _would_ get back together, eventually. Being unable to reconnect with them all of a sudden...it felt like being hit with the exact same hammer that previously worked its way against my chest from the inside. I also noticed my eyes going all watery. That really didn't help, not now it didn't! I turned to leave without any further comment.

"Well, I'm sorry I couldn't help," the stallion called out behind me. Then, he hastily added, "are the Punches somehow important to you, Miss...?"

I stopped dead in my tracks, shivering. Why in the wide world of Equestria did he have to ask for my name? Why _now?_

"It's Berry," I told him. "Just that. It's sort of a pen name."

"...are you some sort of writer, then?"

Oh, for _fuck's_ sake!

"Huh? No, I...I..." Now, I couldn't use the painter thing. Painters wouldn't call it a pen name, right? "...I'm an, uh, artist, somehow. I write short stories and songs, then I perform these, and..."

"Oh, you're _that_ kind of artist!" He said it with a sarcastic notion, and I would have done well to turn around and punch him right in that stupid throat of his. But against my better judgment, I went straight ahead and left. I didn't even look back. There were a few tears running down my cheeks by now, and I really didn't want to show those off.

"Wait! Are you performing anywhere nearby, or..."

"The show got canceled!" I yelled as loudly as my shaky voice would allow it, just before getting back onto the sidewalk. I turned left and dashed down the street as fast as I could, back to where I'd come from.


	7. The Red Horse

There was a small nightclub set up in a former warehouse somewhere deep inside an old commercial area near the railway station. As far as I could remember, this dumping ground for public nuisances and angsty teenagers had always existed here, scarlet neon letters flashing the name _The Red Horse_ into the eyes of every weary pedestrian around.

I ended up this place during several unrelated nights throughout my high school years, dragged along by some other mentally unfit fillies I knew from class. That was ages ago, and usually only happened on nights after I fell out with my parents or didn't have anything better to do. Either way I'd be getting hell for it the next morning. In the end I only remembered the club as a sort of refuge from the rest of the world, where apparently things weren't all that shitty. I needed that now.

Even at three in the afternoon the place had already opened up. It wasn't exactly bursting with customers, strictly speaking. The few visitors the place had didn't seem all too familiar to me. Most of them lurking around in dark corners, playing pool or darts or something. Dark and dusty surroundings, along with a seemingly endless counter with an equal number of liquor bottles stashed inside the shelves behind it, and a small stage for impromptu karaoke performances rounded off the ensemble pretty well. The place hadn't changed at all, and it almost brought a smile to my face.

The atmosphere was somber and quiet at the time. They didn't play any music here until seven or eight at night. Right now, the club was more of a bar, and not a very successful one at that. The main crowd wouldn't show up for another few hours, and what a rotten bunch they would be!

The _Red Horse_ was run by a bunch of crazy left-wing radicals who managed to keep an open mind for all sorts of social deviants. That's where the name derived from, I guess. These ponies weren't so much into money, which was good since I rarely ever had any. They wanted to get rid of money all together, one of the bartenders once told me. I replied, the Princess probably wouldn't allow that. He asked, why not get rid of her then? I couldn't find an answer at the time.

I could come in, either way. Poor and desolate ponies were more than welcome in here, and they barely ever served anyone else. Except of course, weirdo teens like my own former self not so long ago. I wasn't so sure about anypony else, but whoever considered themselves middle class or above tended to resolutely avoid the place altogether.

Not me. After a quick stop at the bathroom, I sat down at the counter. I needed something to help me forget everything that already happened today, and make sure nothing even worse would follow. Nothing I'd be able to remember, anyway. Drinking is bad for you of course. But I felt so empty and hollow that day, I was longingly in need of pretty much anything to stuff that painful hole in my gut.

The bartender probably needed a drink as well after looking at me. I could tell because I made the mistake of risking a peek inside the mirror while freshening up. And the undead apparition staring back at me seemed creepy enough, even if it hadn't been for the pair of reddened, bloodshot eyes. Maybe, I really was turning into a zombie of sorts. I wouldn't even mind that much, I think.

In any case it didn't matter so much to me, right now. Not after I sat down for a drink, biding my painful memories goodbye. Now all I needed to do was pick a method for their execution. Unsure what to try first, I eventually went with a Piña Colada. The name had a nice ring to it.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be the drink's only aspect for me to enjoy. I shouldn't have judged the book by its cover, apparently. A pony needed to tread lightly when faced with a foreign term. Which probably sounded a bit racist, but I really wouldn't consider myself a xenophobe. Then again, I never really paid attention in any of my foreign language classes either. Well, I never paid a whole lot of attention in most of my classes to be honest. If I had I'd probably know more about life than I did now. This way I could only separate between things I happened to know and all the knowledge I missed out on, one way or another.

Here's an example: I happened to know that I reacted allergic to pineapples. A very painful visit to the doctor's office taught me as much when I was six.

And something I missed out on to follow up on that. Because I did not know that Piña Coladas were pineapple flavored. I really should have learned that at some point though. It didn't cost much, which was nice. But price or not, I immediately noticed the mistake I made after one single sip.

I do recognize the taste of pineapples, even though I hadn't had any for years. The only time I ever tried them almost got me killed. It really did. I remember something along the lines of not being able to breathe or something. In case I ever forgot, there always remained this not very appealing scar on my neck to remind me. Enough of my coat had grown back to cover it up by now. But that didn't erase what had happened from existence.

Whatever. I did face a certain dilemma, right now. And it was mostly about the taste, along with the liquid carrying it. Both of them already made their way into my mouth. A place where they really, _really_ didn't belong. I couldn't swallow the drink, unless I wanted to repeat the unpleasant procedure described earlier. Which I didn't. Of course not. I mean, I couldn't even afford a hospital.

I also didn't want to spit it all out onto the floor or something. That would probably be a bit disrespectful. I _did_ order the stuff, after all. Carefully, I leaned forward, and pushed the upper end of my drink's straw through my closed lips. Then, I carefully pressed the lukewarm juice back into the straw and back to where it came from. All the time, my eyes darted around nervously, and I could only beg that nopony would catch me in the act.

Apparently, none of those present did. By the time the last trace of pineapple had left my mouth, I sat back and breathed a massive sigh of relief. Only to slam a hoof into my face right after, when I realized I just wasted three bits on something that I couldn't even use for anything. And now, mixed with some disgusting traces of body scent and saliva, I was pretty sure I didn't want it anymore, anyway. I would have given it to somepony else but I didn't think anyone actually deserved that.

Of course, fate had it that I was proven wrong again in that very moment.

Said proof trotted up to me pretty much out of nowhere. It did so in the shape of a cyan blue mare who approached me from the other end of the counter, grinning like an idiot as she did. That thing called a facial expression was probably supposed to be a smile, but I wouldn't have noticed without any second thoughts. While I told myself I shouldn't actually be surprised to find _her_ around here of all ponies, I fought back the tendency to run away screaming with every new step this mare took towards me. That was pretty dumb of me; I should have just taken the opportunity and ran.

I couldn't even remember that pony's actual name. Back in school, everyone just called her Sonya, I think. Pretty sure her actual name did have something to do with that. Maybe I never even learned about her actual name, I don't know. I never really bothered to find out. Nopony did. Of course, no-one ever felt very compelled to find out anything about her in general.

We had our reasons to avoid her, too. Sonya had never been the brightest candle on the cake. But what she lacked in intelligence she sure did make up for in being obnoxious like hell. She never had any friends, but then again, neither did I. Not for long, anyway.

"Hey there, Berry!" I heard her say in a sing-sang voice that already sufficed to make me cringe. Also, had she really just called me by my first name? I could already feel the convulsions run through my forelegs.

"'sup?" I replied with a nod, not even subtly trying to hide my apathy. Leaning forward, I wanted to take another sip from my drink to show I wasn't up for small talk. Luckily I managed to notice the obvious mistake in that, and retracted my head just in time. Of all ponies, Sonya was among the least I wanted to give me CPR or whatever intimate bullshit would be appropriate in emergencies like these. Even after several years she hadn't yet lost that trademark stink coming from her muzzle. I could tell from a mile away.

If that wasn't enough already, she had to sit down right next to me. Of course she did.

"When did you come back? I haven't seen you in, like, forever!" She put on a corny grin, hooves gently placed in front of her on the counter. Her eyes wandered downward, and widened all of a sudden. "Oh, you've got your cutie mark! That's...fantastic, I still haven't gotten mine, you know."

Well, of course not. She probably hung out here all day long and never did anything else with her life ever. How would anyone ever find out about any sort of talent they had that way?

"How _did_ you get that, I wonder? I mean, what have you been up to?"

How indeed? "Can't really remember," I replied with a snort. Sonya's pretentious smile vanished in an instant. Her eyes grew bigger and she looked like she was about to burst into tears.

"Really? That's terrible!" She loved sounding overly dramatic. I didn't even mention that. "But...but you have to remember what defines you! I think I couldn't stand not remembering that!"

I sighed, my gaze wandering around the room in quiet resignation. I must have committed something really awful to deserve this.

"I don't know because I forgot," I said. Better to tell her the truth. It wasn't that much of an exciting story, anyway. "Went out drinking one night, like...like always. When I woke up the next morning, it was just _there._ And yes, of course I hate forgetting about it. But alcohol is one hell of a drug, I tell you. It takes your soul and body apart with all the possible strength and brutality it can muster, till there's nothing left of you but an empty shell without emotions, love or hatred. Nothing. It's killing you from the inside. And there's literally no upside to any of it."

I reached forward and pushed the pineapple drink over to her. "Want some?"

"Huh? Oh, oh yes, of course!" she squeaked, after a short moment of hesitation. "Thank you so much! Nopony is ever that nice to me."

I winced, mildly gesturing with one hoof, while Sonya sucked through the straw like it was her mommy's teat or something. Before I even noticed, the Piña Colada was half empty. As much as I tried to avoid her, this awkward silence that was only interrupted by her occasional sounds of slurping felt even worse. I figured it was me who needed to keep the conversation going. Even though it probably was a horrible idea.

"So, you're kinda holding up over here?"

"Oh, I'm doing good," she blurted out between slurps. "Pretty good, I think...uh...yeah. I mean, if you ever wanna hang out, I'm usually here all week, so..."

I waited for her to continue, but she left the sentence unfinished and went back to her drink... _my_ drink, instead. Or to be more precise, her drink with my drool in it. I almost snorted at the thought. That wouldn't have been so good, I think. At least, I wouldn't have wanted to explain what was so funny all of a sudden.

In any case, she hung out here all the time. I should have guessed. What else was there in it for her, anyway? A loser like Sonya probably just needed this kind of pseudo-social hub to feel better about herself or something. I'm one to talk. She probably lived here, or whatever.

"But enough of me, how about _you?"_ With some surprise, I noticed the Piña Colada to be emptied out completely as she said that. "You have to tell me everything, and I really mean _everything!_ Maybe we can even figure out what that mark of yours means. Just like old times, right?"

"Yes, of course," I hesitantly said with a weak giggle. "Just let me take care of one little thing, first. _Waiter!"_

Just as I yelled the last word across the room, a teenage colt from a few feet away quickly approached me. I never saw him before, but there really wasn't much to see apart from a freckled face, a disheveled mane, and the weird uniform he was wearing. A turquoise shirt with a brightly yellow sort of scarf...thing. Really?

"You called?" he asked with a sort of childish enthusiasm.

"Yes, I did. And I'd like a fresh bottle of _Neighgermeister,_ if you don't mind."

His eyes widened in confusion. "P-pardon?"

"One whole bottle," I repeated, more slowly this time. "Twenty-four ounces, isn't it?"

The colt arched an eyebrow. "And you don't need anything to mix it with?"

"Nope," I replied, shaking my head. "If I'm gonna go brain dead tonight, I'd at least prefer to take care of that myself."

The colt blinked a few times in confusion, then went fishing the bottle from the shelf behind him. He turned back around, and placed it down in front of me. I thanked him and immediately started unscrewing the top.

To be completely honest, I had no idea what I was doing, right then. It felt like the right thing, as well as an easy escape route, so I just went for it. To my frustration, Sonya never moved an inch, but instead kept watching me with a sense of silent fascination in her eyes. After what I just said, I'd hoped for her to just leave me in peace, I really did. And anypony but her would have gotten the hint.

Then again, Sonya never really got the hint.

There was no way out of it. I'd done it now. I pulled the bottle up to my muzzle, clenching its neck between my teeth. With one last look around, I threw my head back and wished it all to hell.


	8. City of Brotherly Friendship

The rain started again just as my train pulled out of Baltimare. That helped dampening my mood a great deal. I still got lucky in some way. The train left at one-thirty, and wouldn't make a single stop up to its destination. At this time most ponies were still out at work, and hardly anyone would used inter-city transit, apparently. I ended up having an entire cabin to myself.

Leaving my old home town behind again didn't get me as depressed as I expected. Even though I still felt like crap when thinking about my parents. Maybe some other way to track them down would present itself someday, but I couldn't think of anything. I was truly out on my own this time, and I just didn't know how to feel about that.

Seeing as they were gone though, and with no acquaintances but Sonya left in the whole darn place, I figured I'd best move on. Everyone I used to know except for tramps and downers like her had probably ditched Baltimare ages ago. Now Sonya was all alone, and I couldn't help her with that. I think she made me promise to come back that evening, but I couldn't say for sure. Not that I would have come back in any case. It's just that my memory had gotten a bit blurry after drinking all that liquor. I didn't finish the bottle of course, that would've been suicide. All I tried to do was alienate Sonya so she'd leave me alone. Of course that didn't work either.

I underestimated again what that stuff does to an empty stomach. I don't seem to recall what happened next. And there hadn't been anypony around for me to ask, either. The Red Horse closed down sometime during my blackout. When I woke up, I found everything to be dark and empty so I just tiptoed out. As for the payment, well, someone probably took care of that. Even if nopony did, they wouldn't catch me anyway. I'd be far enough away soon.

The train rattled on across the country, streams of rain constantly running down the windows. Before long, they turned the glass pane into a slick gray curtain. Everything on the outside became blurry and indistinguishable, and I ended up alone with nothing but my own imagination to keep me company. Though I promised myself to avoid the topic, my thoughts kept drifting back to whatever might have happened to my parents. Truth be told, I never stopped thinking about them every now and again. Much as I hated to admit it. They were only blocking my path, I kept telling myself. Obstacles with no other purpose than to hold me back.

But returning to the old cottage and standing on that porch again...I don't know. I had a bit of a moment, there. Ever since, even while talking to Sonya last night, my mind kept coming back around to them. Which was bad. Because the more I kept thinking about my parents, the more I felt like breaking down and crying. I really didn't need to do that in public.

It didn't matter so much where they went. Most cities in this country were one and the same, anyway. And my chances of finding the correct one were incredibly slim, so I wouldn't even have to start with that. What I wondered was how they were holding up. Neither of them took my absence too hard, I would think. Still, were they happy? I often asked myself that one, but there was no way to tell. Maybe they even thought of me as annoying as I thought of them, and were secretly glad I left.

I couldn't really tell whether I liked the thought or not. Not being missed doesn't exactly lift up a pony's mood, and I wouldn't make an exception. Then again, most ponies who still remembered me probably felt nothing but disappointment at the thought. I did hope for my parents that they just forgot about me all along, and created a better existence for themselves. The idea hurt me more than ever, but it described what likely was the best solution for everyone involved. Except me but I didn't deserve better. This whole messed up state of affairs was all my fault, anyway. It was me who ran away, and now I had best stay gone. It was the best solution for everyone, like I said.

I can't even tell why I bothered coming back this time. It had been a stupid decision, of course it had. But I didn't see my family so there was no harm done. Time to move on now, before I changed my mind.

The city I moved to next was called Fillydelphia. My train pulled into the central terminal at about four or five in the afternoon or something like that. Seeing the huge and dimly lit terminal outside the nearest window, I decided to quit my napping and get going. Strapping my saddlebags back around my waists, I headed for the exit.

One of the more individual aspects of Fillydelphia Central was a vast foyer that included all sorts of smaller businesses and shops. It was almost like a tiny mall, really. Including the stench that came with it of course. But I needed to get a few items first, and the only alternative would be heading out into the rain right now. I didn't exactly beam at the prospect.

There was a duty-free store somewhere around here, which I passed by at some point. It didn't really stand out or anything but they were selling liquor there. Needless to say that sort of caught my eye by default. But it also made me question the logic of why such a place even existed, and why here. It wasn't like there were any international connections going out from Filly or coming in. Not from its train station, anyway. Except maybe when going to some weird griffin place up north, but I couldn't say whether any border regulations or custom control applied for that. Equestria's borders had always been more of a pretty vague concept, anyway.

I headed towards a small department store close by the main exit instead. From what I could tell, they sold mostly groceries and magazines over there. Since I was hoping for a fresh paper to pick up, it seemed like the place to go. Not that I cared about current events or any of that, but only those sorts of papers tended to have an employment column hidden somewhere inside. The trash cans didn't seem to contain anything useful at first sight, and I really didn't want to go digging any deeper than the top layer. I'd rather pay one or two bits extra, and still keep that part of my dignity.

Much like I had expected, the store did indeed sell the kind of newspapers I was looking for. My choice eventually went for the day's edition of the _Fillydelphia Herald,_ which seemed to be one of the few reliable outlets around here. Tucking it away in my only saddlebag that was left functioning, I paid up and returned to the main foyer. I wasn't so sure on where to go next, but it didn't really matter.

Whatever. I still needed a place for me to sleep tonight, and that sure as hay wouldn't be some crowded terminal building. After two nights of improvising I was hoping to finally get myself someplace halfway decent to rest my bones on tonight. There weren't any hints for that kind of thing anywhere in the building, and unfortunately so. The walls were all plastered with ads for fast food and expensive clothing, neither of which had ever been among my main fields of interest. Well, one of them maybe, but I never voluntarily indulged in it.

Flinging open the entrance hall's main door, I left the crowded atmosphere behind me. The streets of Fillydelphia immediately greeted me with some fresh air and a liberating feeling, which unfortunately wouldn't last for too long. Only a split-second after my first, deep breath of cold air, my face was greeted with a cold splash of water into my face. The rain was coming down even heavier than it had already done these past few days, and I shuddered and groaned at the mere sight. After no more than a few seconds, my coat and saddlebags were both dripping wet, and at least the bag wasn't all too waterproof. I figured I might as well throw the paper away again whenever I'd get the chance. It wouldn't be of much use to me now.

In any case, I decided I'd better get going. Head hung low, and a scowl of frustration across my muzzle, I started crossing the wide avenue that lay almost abandoned in this weather. Of course. Nopony in their right minds would possibly go outside with hundreds of gallons of crap dripping down on them with every passing second. That privilege was reserved for idiots like me. At least, I thought, I had my sweet solitude reclaimed. And I'd prefer just about anything to a crowded place like the terminal. For what it was worth I still made the right choice by coming out here.

Needless to say, I thought wrong again.

As soon as I'd crossed the first two lanes, I heard an ear-splitting screech coming from my left. A screech accompanied by the sound of somepony shouting "Look out!" The latter was easily lost in the rain, but I still managed to catch it just so. Turning my eyes in the direction the noise came from, I started wishing I hadn't.

The first thing I spotted was a stallion rushing towards me with remarkable speed. The latter started to worry me then, right along with the panicking look on this face. Wherever he'd been headed, he must have been in some sort of a hurry. He slammed his hooves into the cobblestone surface, trying to somehow come to a stop. And given how drenched it was, even that didn't slow him down. Not at all.

Oh, right. Did I also mention the carriage that was strapped to his back? It was open on top, and I could recognize dozens of wooden crates inside stashed about as high as they went. They looked dangerously heavy for anything or anyone they might collide with. _And_ several of them were already flying towards me as the driver lost control over his wagon. The pace those boxed were going at did give me one or another reason to be concerned.

Still a good fifty feet away, the driver finally slipped and fell to his side. As he did, the carriage spun around and crashed onto the street with its side. Before I could even move, the wagon spontaneously decided to send all the rest of its cargo flying freely in my direction. And numb with shock, I didn't even consider stepping out of the way. For a moment, I might have also been a bit preoccupied with the driver, who cried out in pain when his foreleg slammed against the edge of the sidewalk.

My attention automatically shifted back to what was coming towards myself. It was a bit more important, too. The last thing I could make out was the spinning, wooden wreckage quickly filling in more and more of my field of vision, until I could see nothing but those darn crates wherever I looked. I wondered where this mess was possibly going to end.

Then it hit me.


	9. Morphine

No, I didn't die. Not completely, anyway. I know. It became a bit of a habit at some point.

When I woke up just about whenever, a low but constant beeping snapped me out of my stasis and back into the real world. The numbness in my limbs grew weaker, and after a while I could at least feel my legs again. I even dared to open my eyes just a bit, only to squeeze then shut again right after. The bright neon light nearly blinded me.

Then I remembered what had happened, and tried to leap out of the oncoming carriage's way. Instead of grinding against the street's hard surface however, my legs kicked up into the air without ever facing much resistance. There was something soft, which I managed to kick off of myself. It felt like a blanket, but I really couldn't tell. Only that it didn't offer the sort of friction I was hoping for. Instead of leaping aside, I hardly moved at all.

The sudden surge of panic that came with my immovability decreased only gradually, as I finally came to. First of all, I wasn't out on the street anymore. And whatever it was I was lying on sure felt like a mattress of sorts.

A bed, probably. That explained a few things, like the blanket. But I didn't feel at all reassured about how I got here. None of this felt familiar, certainly not like a hotel room. The scent that hung in the air was much too sterile, and there was a stinging sensation in my left foreleg I didn't have any explanation for. Telling myself not to panic, I gradually calmed my breathing, then tried to slowly open my eyes again and see whether I could make any sense of this.

My vision needed to readjust itself of course. All I was able to make out in the beginning looked like a blurry mess of white and gray. Only in time did I manage to recognize some actual shapes. As it turned out I really was lying in a bed. A noticeably white bed, but somehow most of this room was either white or a very bright shade of something else. There was a window to my right, and I could recognize three more beds in this strange room, all of them somewhat similar to mine. I think there even were ponies in each of them, but I wasn't able to make out as much just yet.

My gaze wandered down to something closer, that is, my throbbing foreleg. To my distaste, I noticed a needle sticking inside it just above the knee. From there a thin, transparent tube running continued upward, and connected to a plastic package dangling a few inches above my head. This contained some yellowish liquid. It was only then that the gears in my head finally connected. And with them, another surge of panic started washing across my mind.

Was this a hospital? I couldn't be in a hospital, I wasn't able to afford that! I immediately closed my eyes again, trying to focus my thoughts. I needed someone who could explain to me what was going on, is all...

Even though the more reasonable part of my mind protested against the thought, I told myself it might all just be a dream. But with each second that I kept holding out my hopes became more irrational, and the dream all the more real. As much as I hated facing the truth, I wouldn't get around it this time. Because no matter where I was and how grave my condition, there wasn't a hospital bill in the world that I'd be able to pay. Unless I wanted to go to jail or something, I needed to get out of here. After all, getting thrown into some lone and cold prison cell was among the last thing I wanted to do. Of course, I had no perspective on what else to do either. But that didn't mean I had to give up, now. One eyelid nervously twitching, I slowly looked down towards my leg.

The syringe wasn't fixated with any tape or anything, so that helped. They didn't seem to expect me to do any rapid motions or anything while I was out. Of course I still couldn't run around with a darn needle stuck in my leg. I wasn't exactly schooled in medicine or anything, but I could imagine a good three dozen muscles or so not liking that at all. I bent my head towards it, until the lowest possible bit of the tube attached to it got itself entangled between my jaws. I squeezed my eyes shut, and pulled.

Pain shot through my leg as the needle shot out of it. I let loose a surprised yelp and released the syringe that fell from my grip and clattered onto the floor. Some of the weird liquid kept dripping out of it afterwards. But I didn't mind it that much. What caused me a little more concern was the blood that started trickling out of the tiny wound left on my leg. It wasn't too much, but it hurt. A lot. I ignored the pain at the best of my abilities, then leaped out of bed, and landed on three legs only. I kept the one with the needle slightly at bay, since it didn't feel like it could use a lot of additional pressure, right now.

My saddlebags were hanging of a nearby chair. As far as I could tell, all of their former ingredients were still inside. In one of them, anyway. I sort of expected someone to have removed the spoiled newspaper though. It was probably outdated in any case.

Without much hestiation I threw both bags over my back, then strapped them around tightly. Along with some confused looks from my fellow patients I stumbled across the room and made for the door. While the three mares whom I'd never seen before didn't dare speak up at any time, I shot them a number of hostile looks to keep it that way.

Outside of the shared bedroom I came into a long and empty hallway. Its walls were as white and sterile as the other room had felt, and even the neon lights were the same. If working here didn't get a pony depressed, I really wouldn't know what did. As quickly as my three legs would carry me, I turned and made for the next-best staircase.

The main entrance was three floors down, or so the sign above the landing told me. Given my immobility, it took me a bit longer than usual to climb them all down. And still, I never met anyone crossing my path or coming along. At some point it got almost freaky, it really did.

I arrived downstairs, and found myself ending up in a rather vast foyer. The room spanned over a hundred feet in each direction, and even the roof seemed a good deal higher than it was in the rest of the building. I spotted several groups of ponies scattered across the room, a few dozen I'd presume. Some were huddled up in groups and chatting, others rushed on and about in whatever hurry they might be in. I didn't really mind the details. What mattered was that none of them seemed to pay any attention to me. Even when I entered the room with a trot that was all but graceful, no-one really seemed to care. Whatever conversations there had been continued as usual, and whoever hurried throughout the room kept running on, just to save the lives of ponies who were going to die anyway. Sooner or later, that is.

Since nopony seemed to be very interested in stopping me, I proceeded to do what I did best. And the thing I did best was take one step forward after another, keep wobbling through the lobby with one leg hanging limply in mid-air. The grand door on the room's far end looked very much like an exit, so I figured I might as well go for that. About halfway there, I came past a counter, behind which I spotted an elderly mare of about sixty years or so. Noticing my approach, she immediately eyed me with a sense of skepticism. Which only made me walk faster. A bit, at least.

I admit, stumbling about as fast as my remaining limbs would carry me must have looked utterly ridiculous. Even worse, it might hint towards me not being restored to full health and unable to get out just yet.

"Excuse me, Miss Punch?" she yelled. "May I ask where you are headed?"

Those concerns were probably justified, given her position and all. Still, why did everyone always have to go for the name? I turned and tried to force a smile. It didn't go very well, I think.

"Me? Oh, uh...never mind me. I'm just catching some fresh air, is all."

She arched an eyebrow. "What about the bags? I didn't know you were allowed to go outside, yet."

"It's...it's all according to plan," I stuttered, nervously. Sweat started to form on my forehead. "Your colleagues upstairs told me I needed something like this. Get me re-adapted into the normality of life. You know, after I was out for so long."

Practically, I didn't look pathetic by myself. Same terminology could also apply to my search for excuses. The nurse seemed to agree with me on that part.

"Really? The records say you've only been here for two days. And you spent most of that time being unconscious. _And_ received three broken ribs from a traffic accident...excuse me, but this doesn't seem very credible. Say, would you mind getting me some sort of written confirmation about what you've been told upstairs? I'm sure the nurses had a good reason for what they decided on."

I scowled. At least one mystery cleared up. But it didn't improve the situation. I slowly brought my fourth hoof back onto the ground, eying it with all the care I could muster. When it touched down, and even after I put the pressure back on it, my leg hurt considerably less than I expected. Nodding off the mare's request, I had my head hang low, and trotted back to where I came from.

Of course, the foot of the staircase was also where my obedience to her self-proclaimed authority ended. Simply because beyond this point, she couldn't see me anymore. Instead of marching back upstairs, I noticed a narrow window nearby. After another moment of checking for anyone coming up or down the stairs I pulled it open and climbed outside.

Naturally my streak of luck couldn't possibly last all day. And it didn't. When most of my torso and forelegs had already made their way outside, I suddenly noticed the ground being a bit further away than it originally seemed. It was only a few feet down, but that still made for a pretty unnecessary fall. Seeing things as they were I lost my balance, and dropped face-first onto the concrete ground. Quickly, another flash of pain exploded inside my head.

I think I kept lying around on the floor quietly grunting for another two minutes or so. When I finally managed to get back up on all fours this time, I shook my head in an effort to get rid of my dizziness. Blinking once or twice I looked around to get an approximate idea of where I ended up.

It was some sort of narrow sidelane, which connected two of the larger streets. The walls stood extremely close to each other; I didn't expect even a simple carriage to fit between the two. They made me feel all claustrophobic, really. In need of getting out into the open, I made a dash for one of the wider streets.

For now, I only needed to get away from the hospital. I had no idea how much they wanted to charge me but I was one-hundred and twenty percent positive the final numbers would fall far above whatever amount of coins and bills I had left in my bags. But if nopony would catch me now, they wouldn't be able to track me down later. They had somehow learned my name. But I didn't have a fixed address or anything, so good luck with that.

When I reached the street, I found it to be extremely busy. Without giving the other pedestrians much thought, I turned left and galloped straight ahead at full pace. I think I didn't slow down until I put at least three or four blocks between myself and that goodness-forsaken place. Only then could I hope to breathe freely again, even though my lungs were going at it pretty desperately.

With a sigh, I fell back onto my haunches and paused for a moment. Much to my personal pleasure, I heard several small coins ring inside the one saddlebag that was still intact. With at least a bit of money at hoof, I wouldn't be lost as I thought. Now, I only needed something reasonable to invest it in. My first idea naturally came back to covering my hospital bill, but I dismissed it without a second thought. That didn't really matter, now. There needed to be some way to make better use of the narrow resources available.

My eyes turned towards a nearby liquor store.


	10. Stone-Cold Rock Bottom

Everything was dark. Stenches of rotten eggs and spoiled surrounded me when I woke up, and I couldn't see a damn thing. My head felt numb and heavy, and my stomach let me know I'd already gotten dangerously close to throwing up. It didn't take me very long to realize I was lying on my back again, this time supported by something slimy and definitely not a bed. There would probably be walls or a ceiling around me somewhere, but I couldn't tell.

There was a reason even for that, just like there is a reason to everything. Maybe. As soon as I rolled over to my side just a little, the left half of my barrel cried out in pain more than I'd ever thought possible. I won't lie; it felt like someone had poked a rusty nail in there and cut me right open with it. With a yelp, I dropped back onto my back without further resistance. It took me a few more seconds to roll over to my other side. I felt for the damaged spot on my side with a hoof, and noticed parts of my rib cage give in below its push. That _really_ couldn't be good.

I needed professional medical help. Which was sort of a problem, for obvious reasons.

There wasn't any point even thinking about that. Going back to the hospital was out of the question, but that was the least of my problems right now. I first needed to find out where this was I ended up in. Reaching up with my muzzle for something to get a grip on, I smashed into some sort of metallic ceiling. The ringing it produced on impact was echoed fairly well inside my head, and it matched my subsequent euphoria just about right.

Although my damaged ribs protested vehemently, I raised myself to my hindlegs, then used both front hooves to push against whatever this thing above my head was. It gave in a lot more easily than expected. I found it to be nothing but a particularly large lid. It swung up without producing much resistance once given a good push. The opening revealed where I ended up. It also sent some bright sunlight flowing in, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut. It just had to be the same mistakes, didn't it?

Long story short I'd apparently spent the night in some backyard dumpster. And the slimy ground beneath my hooves had its reasons for having that sort of texture. In a way, I felt relieved to see no other pony around the place. This really wouldn't have made a good impression. I'd already gotten myself into the craziest of situations after a good drink or two, which I firmly believed that to be the reason for my latest blackout. But I had positively no idea how I ended up here.

I climbed out of this thing with some difficulty, then dropped down onto the cobblestone ground below. This was a backyard, no doubt. Being an enclosed space bordered by four walls sort of gave that away. It had a single passage leading through one of its sides.

When I turned around to face the rest of wherever I ended up, I found my saddlebags spread on the ground before me. And it wasn't only that; as opposed to their earlier state, both of them were horribly torn and tattered. Poking my hoof at them once or twice also revealed both of them to be empty. Whatever I used to carry around in them was long gone.

I looked round, hoping to find at least some of my belongings scattered around the place. But all I could spot anywhere was the casual, smelly junk that probably belonged here in the first place. I reached up with both hooves to vigorously massage my temples. Surely, this would have some consequences. Which ones, I couldn't tell, though I was pretty sure there would be some. It can get a bit hard to focus with a throbbing skull like this.

It felt like every single fiber of my body was completely overwhelmed with the mere task of existing. Inhaling and exhaling kept me busy as my main priorities for a while. Being this focused on functioning on the most basic of levels, for a while I didn't even realize just how screwed up everything was. I guess the thought just didn't occur to me. Not until a while later when I opened my eyes again, and took another peek at my ruined bags. But when I did the revelation hit me all at once, so to speak.

I slumped down onto my haunches, noticing just how bad my situation had turned out. Sure, I've had my ups and downs in these past years...but this? Nothing even compared to this. I was broke, I was homeless, I didn't see any way out, and my coat was drenched in some other ponies' rotten waste. At least a few days back, I had one ace left up my sleeve when I could always try and go back to my family, if there ever shouldn't be any other way. But even that wouldn't work, not anymore.

And that was just the point. I had no place to go. Which hotel would take me in like this? Probably none, but that also resulted from me being unable to pay them any rent. And where would I get the necessary funds for paying them? Attending any sort of job interview was absolutely pointless in my current state. But I couldn't get cleaned up unless I'd be able to get into some sort of hotel. And which hotel would take me in like this? Classic Catch-22.

There was always a way out, sure. But when only one way out remained, that approach wasn't always profitable. And the longer I tried finding one, the more obvious it became that I wouldn't be able to. I could jump off a rooftop, sure. But given my luck, I'd probably even screw that up and end up in a wheelchair. I couldn't afford a wheelchair! And the ponies back at the hospital wouldn't exactly be glad to conduct any surgeries on me, either. They probably wouldn't even take me in. Or maybe they would, but I couldn't possibly hope to escape them again.

What then? Simple anatomy has it that any mare, however broke she may be, always does have _something_ left to sell. But despite everything I'd been through, offering my backside in exchange for a few coins still felt wrong. I don't know why. It's not like getting drunk and messed with in some greasy bathroom stall results in any more dignity. Whatever. None of it sounded very appealing.

Only one thing became obvious after a pretty short while. I couldn't think of a solution now, and I likely wouldn't find it anytime soon. So far, so bad. Whatever train of thought I tried to follow, it always just brought me back to where I started. As my hangover weakened I cleared up more and more, which gave way to the revelation I couldn't run from any longer: That this was it. There was no way out, not anymore. This would become the end to my own personal story. Game over, no extra lives left. Please enter your initials and move on.

And if there's nowhere to move on to, well, you might as well shut the hell up and die. Took me long enough, anyway.

With all that garbage going round inside in my head, I didn't even realize I had fallen over. Well, not until now, anyway. But I had. I literally lost my balance and landed on my face. How a pony doesn't notice that sort of thing was beyond me, but apparently it was possible. My head was resting in the mess that had once been my saddlebags, with my rump somewhat raised up at the rear, legs awkwardly twisted and tangled beneath. My body's position reflected on the overall situation almost ironically, in a way.

I probably should have cared about that. Falling over, I mean. Especially when considering how stupid I must have looked like. But I didn't mind it all that much. Instead, I only kept staring ahead, blinking, breathing. It was all that I was good for, anyway. Or what? Wasn't it, really?

I don't know. I think it was somewhere around that time that I started sobbing like a filly who lost her mom in a crowd, or something. Once those broke lose into a fully-grown stream running down my cheeks, there was no way I could hold it back anymore. And I didn't care. If it just all ended, right there and then with me rotting away while lamenting myself and drowning in self-pity, then so be it. To think everything I ever did had lead me up to this point!

I recall stopping myself from going on like this after some time, realizing it wouldn't get me anywhere. Wailing around like a factory siren at the end of the afternoon shift might just have been what I wanted, but it certainly wasn't what I deserved. Or something. Could I even judge myself, anymore? Could I do that at all?

I don't know. I really don't. At some point, and I'm pretty sure the sun was already setting at the time, I got back up on my hooves and galloped off. Where that would be, I had no idea. But I needed to go somewhere, didn't I? It was getting cold, too. So I guess the setting sun and all that really did account for my situation...whatever.

I dashed through the underpass, and ended up on some sidewalk. It wasn't as crowded as usual, as far as I could tell. I hadn't seen a crowded Fillydephia street in a while. There wasn't a whole lot of the city to be seen from inside that backyard, anyhow.

Fillydelphia was a maze of streets, and roads, and whatnot. Most of them also applied to the whole rectangular grid thing, but even that wouldn't help me getting around. In the end, I just kept on wandering through the city completely lost and without any specific destination. Of course I had no idea where I started either. So getting lost probably wasn't that much of a surprise.

I kept going. It's sort of hard to give up once you've already done so in the first place. At some point during my walk the sun disappeared completely, and I had only the dark night sky to accompany me from there on out. There wasn't any rain, but a harsh wind that kept on blowing for hours at a time. It felt like the cold was killing me, really. Even my coat didn't do a whole lot against the breeze. I might have gone looking for shelter like...wherever, but I didn't really feel like doing that.

Funny enough, I accidentally passed by the train station at some point. The same one that I first arrived in. It was easily two or three in the morning by now, and even a central hub like this lay mostly abandoned. But the lights inside weren't turned off, and even all these flashy, colorful neon ads were still glowing. Which was interesting.

For a moment I hesitated, seeing the terminal. Not for very long, but still I did. Only after a few seconds did I turn around to face it, and started walking towards the entrance. It wasn't locked. That surprised me at first, but it probably shouldn't have. It was a public place, after all.

Once I had entered the main hall, I took a moment to rest, falling back onto my haunches for the second time that day. And for reasons I couldn't possibly explain, I suddenly felt a lot better than I had done over in that backyard or on my way here. I even forced a little something like a smile onto my muzzle. A short-lived one, sure. It wasn't very strong or convincing, either. But it felt better than my earlier desperation, I think. While feeling at home in an empty train station might sound sad in the ears of some ponies, I could only cherish the moment. I really did. Then, for no particular reason whatsoever I decided I'd get on the next train that left Filly. It didn't matter where it would take me; I'd see about that soon enough.


	11. Temporary Stagnation

The main terminal at Fillydelphia Central had an enormous clock hanging down from the center of the ceiling. Some smartypants mechanic thought it up over a hundred years ago, and it still kept running even now. The idea of constructing something to tell the time seems pretty strange once it outlasts whoever originally built it. That felt to me like it said, hey, time for you to pass the bucket old man. See you in a hundred years or whatever. But that wasn't true. He built it for everyone else just as well as himself, after all. If not, why put it up inside a public place like this? Probably because it didn't fit inside his living room.

Right, anyway. It was about one-thirty when I walked back in, way earlier than I thought. Looking around, I spotted the ticket booths and posted schedules inside a hallway to my right. The booths were closed down at this point of course. Then again, I wasn't planning on buying tickets from them anyway. It's not like I had any money left to do so.

I trotted over there anyway, and quickly spotted a pretty large board hanging on the wall opposite the box offices. And lo and behold, it had the whole day's departure times and destinations on display. Including that is, the fact that the first train in the morning wouldn't leave Filly until twenty to six. I stared at the info in disbelief for a moment. Originally, I had hoped to catch a night train so that I might arrive in the morning. Wherever that would be. Now I had to spend a whole four hours and then some in this place, doing...what?

Back at the main foyer, things had long since wound down to the point where the place could very much be pronounced dead. All the shops and whatnot were closed, and there wasn't anything else here, safe for some homeless ponies sleeping on the benches as there always were. There were only three or four of them all around the place, and I didn't mind them too much. Still, looking at them snore away made me stifle a yawn of my own.

So I was tired. Not much of a surprise there, given everything that had happened over the last two or three days. Maybe, I thought, I should just get a bench of my own. Unfortunately there weren't any benches left unoccupied anywhere in the room, with only a handful of them here in the first place. And the last thing I wanted to spend the night on was the cold cement floor, especially one covered in all the usual train station grease. Might as well throw up all over myself, I thought.

What to do, then? I figured I should probably take a look around the track where this five-forty train was going to arrive, and maybe find something to take a nap on there. Also, I should have probably looked at what track that was going to be when I had the chance. Grimacing, I turned back to look at the schedule again.

I arrived at track number twelve seven minutes later. I could tell because there was another clock hanging here. It didn't look nearly as old as the one in the foyer did. At least it also worked. That was almost as important to me as there being several unoccupied benches out here. And the catch with that? Well, I had to leave the terminal building to get here of course. These platforms had a roof over each of them, sure. But without any walls or anything to stop the wind from coming through, I was left completely exposed to the late October breezes which already had made me shiver when I first got here. The idea of sleeping out here didn't sit well with me at all. Tired as I was though, that bit of inconvenience felt easy enough to forget. Not to mention there didn't seem to be any preferable option anywhere nearby.

So that's what I went for. Laying down on the cold, wooden planks I had to work hard enough to get into a position that felt at least halfway comfortable. I couldn't stretch out my legs at all though, and I already could tell that might become a problem later on. They would be aching like hell to say the least. Shuffling around to make the most out of it, and also to ensure the wind would just be hitting my back instead of anything more delicate, I managed to quiet down after a while. After falling still I started hoping to just quietly drift away after a bit. Given my luck though, I didn't manage to get there. It was no surprise really. I didn't feel very relaxed all the way through; instead, I was way to occupied freezing and grinding my teeth because of it. Strains of hair from my mane shoved into my eyes by the breeze every now and again only added to the effect. The unpleasantness of it all shouldn't have surprised me as much, with the place and all.

For a while then I just stared dead ahead hoping for something to happen, but nothing did. My surroundings stayed exactly the same with nothing to see but the dimly lit platforms, nothing to hear but the howling of the wind gushing through the nearby trees, and nothing to feel but the same damn wind and the freezing cold it brought with it over everything and then some. I let my eyes wander up and down the platforms, hoping to spot something interesting somewhere. And still no-one else had gotten crazy enough to come out here into this cold. I was alone.

Longingly, I gazed at the nearest clock again. It was now another twenty minutes to two, apparently. That got me frowning. Had I really been here for only three minutes? It felt like hours. And I still had to stay here for so many more of them.

In times like these I'd heard somewhere, a pony should think back to more pleasant things, something to be nostalgic about or whatever. It wouldn't help in the end, but it would pass the time in the best of ways still. So, I thought, what could I think back to from back before my life got this messed up? I tried to think of my home in Baltimare from all the way back when. The cottage with mom, dad, and uh, me being happy and without worries, well…maybe not. I wasn't so sure but we couldn't have been a happy family, not for long anyways. I wouldn't have ended up like this otherwise. I could see their faces before me for a moment here and there, but if anything it made me feel more miserable than better. I sighed. None of it was any good.

What about the other places I'd been to back home? All those nights at the Red Horse? There had to be something about that, otherwise I wouldn't have kept going back. It seemed so surreal to me then, how this whole time when I hadn't been a forsaken bum traveling aimlessly around the world had only ended a few years ago. It positively felt like a whole other life of mine. Maybe even that of someone else entirely.

Well, when did I first see the Red Horse from the inside, I wondered. I recalled still being extremely young when I first broke out of that cage called home. Some of the other misfits at school had talked to me about it for the weeks before, talked me into tagging along just this once. I didn't like the idea at first back then; it all just seemed to risky. And I remembered having to swallow one hell of a lump down my throat the first time I actually climbed out my bedroom window to disappear down the street and join up with the crowd.

It had been fun at first. Never before or afterwards had I felt so alive than that night, I think. And once I had gotten a taste of the horse, well, it just kept drawing me back in, school and family be damned. The Red Horse crowd just became my new family. That's what I decided on for myself at some point, and that's how I felt about it then. I figured I could learn enough about life from the regulars there to have myself prepared for the years to come. Oh well.

I guess it's not much of a surprise how all of that turned out. It took my parents forever to figure out what was going on, but the consequences were all the more crushing. Enough in fact, to become the main reason I ran away. And here we are then. Not very pleasant memories, those. I tried to re-focus. Could it really have all been bad?

What about the ponies at the Horse then, I thought? I knew I had some good memories with these guys, all the illegal stuff that was going on be damned. Still remembering all these faces proved way harder years later than I thought it would. I hadn't gone back to them in a while of course. And I knew I hadn't seen anyone familiar when visiting the place just days ago.

Well, except for Sonya of course. There had been plenty of regulars and not-so-regulars back then, the crowd always slightly different from one night to another. Which made sense, seeing how everyone had their own personal obligations to fulfill outside of it. Sonya was always the only constant. She would sit at the counter every night, talking to ponies about only the most unbelievably mundane stuff, being terribly miserable and sad without ever realizing it. I don't think Sonya ever even got laid in all these years. Too exhausting to be around in the first place. Knowing the Red Horse, all that probably made her the only one there who didn't screw around every other night or so. I know I did.

And thinking about that, I suddenly found myself grinning from ear to ear. Those were some good memories, alright. I knew I'd be finding some good stuff locked away somewhere in that old head of mine. I stayed like that for a while, entertaining some thoughts about the glory days that would make any upstanding citizen shudder.

Time progressed more quickly after that, I felt. Looking up at the station clock at one point, I realized it was already four-thirty. I must have fallen asleep after all somewhere in between. Looking back a little further down the tracks towards the terminal building, I realized something else. I wasn't alone anymore.

The realization almost made me jump, but I managed to keep myself under control. Instead, I slowly got up after another moment or so of calming my alarmed nerves. Just as I did, I noticed all at once just how much I was freezing. A horrible, cruel cold sunk its fangs all the way into my coat and skin, right down to my bones. It did get to a point where I felt hardly able to even move at a regular pace, which sobered up my thoughts in much less time than I even liked to admit.

I stood there shaking, my teeth chattering uncontrollably, every fiber of myself revolting against the freezing cold that penetrated me all the way through from every side. Rapidly breathing, I just remained in place for a few minutes, doing my best not to collapse. There was nothing I ever learned from anyone which I could use in a situation like this, except maybe that I'd need a blanket or something hot to drink. Both of which were out of the question right now, as I didn't have either one.

However long it took me to get to a point where I could tell that I'd be somewhat okay at least, I couldn't tell. Checking the time every other minute wasn't exactly among my priorities then. When finally I could manage to think somewhat straight again, nothing much had changed about my surroundings. The sky was still dark and overcast, the neon lights still going strong and buzzing around, and all over the platform I was still the only one there, safe for that one stallion standing a good deal away from me, closer to the terminal building, waiting. As I studied him for a moment, I noticed how very hard he pretended not to notice me. At any other time, I would've immediately come up with a million reasons for him to dislike me and then some. But feeling the way I did then, still drunken on the sheer absurdity of my situation, none of that mattered so much. For whatever reason I figured walking up to this absolute stranger and introducing myself would make for the best fresh start in my life I could possibly hope for. So that's what I did.

The closer I came, the stricter this stallion kept up his attitude of looking stiffly ahead. He would sometimes shift his stance a little, but never in any direction where he could accidentally run into the mistake of meeting my eyes, thus making the mistake of acknowledging my existence. But I brushed all that aside, and studied him while approaching. He was pretty bulky for once; the muscles standing out beneath that red coat of his could tell as much a story as that. His mane was maybe dark-blond or light brown or something like that. It was impossible to tell in this light. Adding to that, he had a clear-cut green apple plastered across his flank. Whatever that meant. I had a feeling I'd find out soon enough.

I stopped maybe two feet short of him, still sufficiently self-aware to know when to give a pony his personal space. He glanced over to me then, once, maybe twice. Anyone with half a sane mind who hadn't just spent four hours sleeping on a cold bench would've gotten the hint by then. All I noticed however, was the straw of grass he had poking out of his muzzle while chewing on the back end. To think I was supposedly the one looking like a tramp!

Something needed to be said, no doubt. I asked myself what someone like him would say to start a conversation at this point.

"Can I help you?"

Yeah, no. That's what _he_ would have said, specifically. Not really fitting for me. But now it already had come out of my mouth. Oh boy.

He looked at me for a while longer this time, definitely acknowledging me being there now. Also with a lot more irritation in his face. Generally speaking, it wasn't too surprising.

"I don't recall askin' for no help."

He said it in an impressively stoic way, and also with an accent as broad as only the proudest of hillbillies would dare to pronounce out loud before an audience. Overemphasize much? Probably.

"Well," I replied, stifling a laugh. "I guess there's not really anything you can do to help me either." It was supposed to be a joke, but maybe it came out too demanding.

"Nope."

I took a look around, trying to think of something to break the ice. "So, what brings you here?"

"Business."

"Selling apples?"

"Yep."

"Know how I could tell?"

"Yep."

Of course he could. Stupid. It really had been obvious enough, hadn't it?

"You're not from here though," I went on, changing the subject.

"Nope."

"Where from, then?"

Up until then, he had mostly avoided my gaze. But now he turned around to face me with a stern glance, that made me shrink back entirely. I might have jumped back a bit. That's hard to remember.

"Look, I really appreciate you trying to cheer me up 'n all," he said, "but take a mirror for once and take a look at that there pitiful sight o' yours. Your downright freezing to death out here, ain't ya? Better get yourself someplace warm, like," he motioned towards the terminal with his head.

I glanced at the station clock. Fifteen more minutes till the train would arrive. No worries I thought, I can make that. I gratefully nodded off his request and started trotting back towards the main building, planning to be back for the train after a few minutes. The same train he would also be on that was, which made the situation all the more embarrassing. All the while I kept asking myself what I was trying to accomplish, while never really finding the answer I was looking for.


	12. Cars and Restless Riders

I strolled around the foyer for the next few minutes, hiding behind counters and vendors, doing my best not to lose sight of the platform for too long. All the same, I had to avoid making eye contact with the stallion still standing out there, glass front in between or not. I made this encounter awkward enough already. With any luck, I wouldn't have to talk to him again anytime soon. Maybe, I thought, I should just take a later train. But then I'd just keep freezing of course. And I'd gotten to a point where my body violently reminded me to get myself warmed up already in one way or another as soon as possible, no matter the cost. Cowering in front of one of Baltimare Central's many store fronts wouldn't do anymore after last night. Internally I started begging for the train to arrive all too desperately to just miss it. My eyes wandered up to the large clock on the ceiling. Three more minutes and I'd be out of here.

I sat there a while longer. Naturally I'd have loved to distract myself, but of course none of the damn stores in this place had opened up yet. There was nothing to do except waiting and hoping I wouldn't make my own situation any worse than it had become anyway. Looking around, I discovered even the benches were all still occupied by my fellow slumbering heaps of trash. Go figure.

They all stirred a little, when the sound of a train whistle penetrated the room, it's hoot echoing through the hall for a moment or so. Seconds later everyone had fallen fast asleep again. To them this was business as usual, of course. A hunch told me none of these ponies were spending their first night here. I didn't know whether to feel sad or resentful about them. I didn't have any good reasons either way.

To Tartarus with them. The whistle made me jump up momentarily, and I did of course know what it meant. My means of transport away from this forsaken coast had finally arrived. I dashed forward from behind the shop's counter, carrying nothing but my own rotten self towards my perceived salvation, just as fast as my hoofs could carry me. There was a train now standing on track number twelve, its engine huffing out clouds of steam, all heated up and ready to go. A total of four crimson-colored carts were attached to it. Without thinking, I ran to the first one in line and jumped up through the nearest open doorway. Anything to get me out of this cold.

"The air inside was somewhat lukewarm at best, and on first impact I didn't feel any better at all. But it would have to do for now, and I felt confident I'd be doing better in time. The seats, all arranged in pairs facing each other, were neatly wrapped in thick cushions. I seemed to have a bit of an unlimited choice between them, since there wasn't a single soul in sight anywhere. Those already made for two upsides of my gruesome situation. Still, the things I'd have given for a warm, wooly blanket just then!

All things considered, I didn't mind too much which of these seats I'd be occupying. One that wouldn't be taken up at a later stop by someone who made a reservation, I could only hope. Even though there was no way of knowing that now. The conductor might have something to say about that if asked, so I'd have to avoid him like the plague for now. Me not having a ticket and all that. After a short search, I flopped down on a pair of seats which seemed to be in relatively good shape.

I stayed in a fetal position for a moment, just basking in the softness of the fabric under my worn bones, taking it in as much as I could in this short a time. Which did get cut short when I casually looked up after a bit, and found myself face to face with the grumpy stallion from earlier. He was sitting at the opposite window, uncomfortably regarding me and my antics. I quickly bounced back into an upright position once I realized that.

"I, uh..." I began. That's it. There literally wasn't anything else I could bring myself to say. Of course.

"Mighty sorry if I've come across as rude earlier," he said, starting the conversation for me. "I didn't think ya were actually gonna hop onto this here train."

"Oh, oh, yeah...never mind that," I stuttered. "I guess I probably looked like...someone else."

He nodded, but didn't say another word, as I'd hoped. I made an effort to straighten myself, pointing towards the end of the car.

"Uh...I have to, like, go…"

With that I got up, looking for the nearest bathroom. Locking myself in there would give me some time to figure things out, I thought. I did soon enough spot a plain grayish door to the right, reading WC. This had to be it, naturally. It also read "Locked while vehicle is stationary." And really, when I tried pushing down the handle, it wouldn't budge. The shrill sound of a whistle came by from outside, piercing my eardrums. I cringed at that.

Standing still for a moment, I told myself not to panic. The bathroom had been my one way out of getting written up for, well, not having paid for my ride, and now that option closed itself before my own eyes. Literally. Several doors then slammed close all along the side of the train. I could tell I was in for it now. A harsh crank ran through the car as the engine began pushing us out of the station. And still, I stood there like an idiot with no idea in mind what to do. Glancing through the nearest window, I could see the platforms of Baltimare Central rush by quicker and quicker, until they receded at last, and all I could see were thinning numbers of rails running alongside us, supported by rows of pebbles and undergrowth. A mechanic clicking sounded from inside the door.

Without a split-second to lose, I pushed it open and leaped inside. Closing the door behind me and turning the lock, I finally breathed an air of relief. Turning around, I stared at an empty metal bowl which had somehow been fixated to the ground and which, aside from a cheap tin sink mounted to the opposite wall, was all I could find in here. My enthusiasm restrained itself from rising any further, with me wondering what sort of luxuries I'd even expected in a place like this. There was a reason why I'd rarely even used train bathrooms until then.

Someone had spray-painted a bunch of words onto the wall above the improvised toilet, and it took me a moment to make them out. "For flushing, work pedal below," they read. I took a peak around, and there really was a small pedal, well-hidden and right beneath the bowl. As I stepped on it, the very bottom of the toilet moved aside with a rusty creaking, revealing a narrow gap directly facing the rails rushing by below. I let it snap back into place, and snorted at the implications. Locked while stationary. Alright then.

I sat down next to the bowl and pondered for a while. I didn't actually need to use it of course, I was just in here to get out of a sticky situation, regarding both my missing ticket and yet another unnecessary encounter with the guy from the platform. I wondered what to do about that, of course. I couldn't just go sit somewhere else, that would just be rude. And to be honest, it likely would make the situation even worse.

What to do? I sat there thinking for a good while longer, but no decent ideas would come to mind. After who knows how long, I could hear the door connecting our car to the next one over slide open. Moments later, the clanging sound of hoofs on metal passed by my humble cabin, followed by the words, "fillies and gentlecolts, your tickets please."

Well that was something, I figured. If the conductor had made it this far, and there really only was this one other pony in the whole car, he'd be done with the place in no time, and I could slip back out already. I kept thinking about resolving my other situation, and my brain kept providing me with nothing useful at all. I worked the pedal one more time at some point. I'll admit, it did make me grin for another second or two.

After what felt like forever and then some, I finally heard the conductor's hoofs pass me by again. The connecting door slid open and close, and I knew he was finally, finally gone. I gave him another minute to disappear before I unlocked the door and carefully stalked back out.

I still didn't know what to do. That being said, I just sat down on the same seat I'd been on before, even though it might expose me to awkward smalltalk all day. The stallion briefly looked up to acknowledge my return, then continued gazing out of the window.

"Whelp," I said, sitting down. I was going to follow it up by saying "that took a while." Luckily, I managed to halt my own dumb tongue in time this once. I wanted to bring up the conductor next, but quickly reasoned how even that would hardly lead down a path with a positive outcome for myself. So I said nothing until I managed to think of something else.

"So, what's your name?" that was. Real imaginative as always. I could see the stallion's ears slightly twitch, as he turned to me with a face that I could only describe as sleepy.

"Mac," he replied. "Yours?"

"Berry."

"Nice meeting ya."

"Right."

"From Baltimare?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, yes. I can't really do much in Baltimare right now, and I have to hit the road for a bit. Personal trouble. Wouldn't want to bore you with it."

He nodded again. "Alright."

"Where...are you from?"

"Small town out in the plains," he told me, his face lighting up a little. "Name's Ponyville. Me 'n my kinsfolk run a farm there…"

"…growing apples?"

"Eeyup. We got ourselves some animals too, of course. But apples are our main source of income. Fam'ly tradition I reckon. Been like this for generations." He cleared his throat. "And the town, it's a real nice place too. Real nice, I tell ya. Not really a lot to see 'n such, sure. But it's got heart. Goes a long way, that."

He sounded all too genuine about it. Even as he was speaking, I could already just imagine what a nice, quiet life that must have been. In a way, my mind already started skipping through scenarios where I was doing just what he described: Growing some crops, tending them, feeding some cows or pigs or whatever. Always something to do, and nothing at all to make life miserable. Ponies like this one, I thought, they enjoyed the simple things in life and probably fared better with that than any of us vermin from the rotten hearts of civilization ever would. We, whose inner clocks had already adjusted to the rapidness of today, where a pony needed everything any nothing in seconds, everything cramming up your day and such. Speaking of which…

"What...sorry. I was always wondering. What time do you have to get up at a place like yours? In the morning, I mean?"

"'bout five."

"Oh well. Kill your dreams before it's too late and all that. Mac must have read my reaction though, as he followed up his own statement.

"Would be a bit tough for y'all folks not accustomed to it. Ya look pretty beat anyhow, and I ain't gonna blame it on ya after spending all the night on that bench out there. Must've been a pretty tough break you had."

"With…" I stared at him, cluelessly.

"Awright, sorry. Ain't my business to intrude in. What I'm trying to say is, if ya need some sleep, go right ahead. I ain't gonna judge you for it."

"Right, thanks," I said, surprised. "I'll…do my best."

We drifted apart a bit after that, or so it felt. He went back to gazing, and I put my head down on one of the armrests, while spreading out across both seats in an effort to lay down. Originally, I only wanted to sort of pretend trying to sleep to ease the mood or whatever. But as soon as I lay there again, the fatigue started rushing all over me, and I noticed just how beat I really was, even after some hours of rest out on the platform. Sleep came to me quick but lightly this time, and I for once wholeheartedly welcomed it.


	13. Escape

One of those falling sensations that sometimes just happen while sleeping plunged me out of my dreams and made me crash back into a harsh and cold reality. I shot up from the seat cushions in shock and sat upright, panting and trying not to lose my composure and tumble down to the floor like one big, terrified mess.

"There you are. May I see your ticket, please?"

I felt sweaty all over. My vision was a blur; while blinking it back I gradually remembered where I was. When I could see clearly again, I quickly spotted the stallion with the bushy mustache standing right in front of me. Another moment later, I noticed the conductor's uniform he was wearing.

Just my luck. I was falling again, at least that's how I felt for a moment. My heart dropped about two floors down, right into my hindlegs and probably beyond. I didn't feel right in the head, unable to even put two words together in response. So I just stared at him in the heat of the moment, mouth agape, drooling like an idiot. He exchanged a quick look with Mac, who still sat at his old place, and didn't seem at all comfortable with the idea of getting involved.

Eventually the conductor realized that he wasn't going to get a good explanation from the poor stallion whom I'd dragged into all this, and turned back to me. "Are you alright, miss?" He sounded genuinely concerned this time. I didn't realize that in time, otherwise I might have tried using it to my advantage.

"I'm...good," I stuttered after another moment's silence. "Really. You just caught me a little off-guard there."

His features relaxed somewhat at that. "It's fine," he said. "May I see your ticket, then?"

I averted his eyes, and openly admitted the truth. "I don't have one. Couldn't afford it."

And what else was I supposed to say? After considering the situation for what few seconds I had, I'd decided there wasn't any way out of this for me, anyway. Might as well face the consequences. The conductor seemed surprised at that; he narrowed his gaze in suspicion for a bit.

"I have to ask you to remain seated. I'll be back in a minute."

With that he turned towards the next compartment of seats, to address a bunch of ponies I couldn't see. When I looked around, I noticed a good many of them. In fact, the car was easily more than halfway full at this point, filled with bored out of their mind travelers who had nothing better to do than give me some mistrustful glances every now and again, before quickly turning away once I even so much as tried returning the favor. No-one on the train would look at me then, but it was easy to guess that I was the one they were thinking about. In whatever uncomfortable way that might be. I did my best not to look over towards Mac; the situation had become embarrassing enough as it was.

The minutes took forever to pass. But I felt like crap all the way through. I definitely couldn't go back to sleep right now, even if it was just to pass the time. I was too nervous for that. A shiver ran down my spine, when the conductor had finished his rounds and came marching back up the aisle. I shot him an anxious look just as he finally got back to me. He returned it and motioned to the near end of the carriage.

"If you'd come along, please."

After a brief walk of shame past four or five rows of seats, we got to the secluded area at the exit doors, out of everypony's sight and hearing range, thanks to the door to the main compartment closing behind us. As his horn lit up, a yellow clipboard with a stack of forms on it and a pen came hovering out of the small bag he'd strapped around himself. "Well, then," he began. "No ticket and no legal tender on yourself to pay for one? If you have any money, I'll give you another chance right now."

I shook my head. "Nothing, sorry." The pen began dancing over the form, filling out fields here and there.

"Alright. We'll be arriving at a station in a few minutes. Naturally, I'll have to ask you to leave the train once we're there. I'll also need your full name and current residence. Royal Equestrian Railways will send a formal complaint and fine to your address, which will have to be paid within a time frame of fourteen days to avoid any further legal consequences. Do you follow so far?"

I nodded.

"Your name, then?"

"I...Cherry Cola," I burst out, reminding myself not to think about it for too long. "I live on 4213...Hayshire Drive in Baltimare."

That was a real address, by the way. And if anyone by that name actually lived there, I could only hope I'd find a time to apologize to her in time. And what else could I do? Telling him I was homeless would have probably made the situation even worse.

"Alright, then," he replied. The pen and clipboard wandered back into his bag. "Stay here now, we'll be at the station at any moment."

With that, he fell back on his haunches but kept sternly regarding me. All the same, I had to force myself to just look out the window. I also had to suppress a grin; had I known how easily I could get off despite being caught as a stowaway, I could have saved myself dozens of tickets during the past few years.

Then again, that probably wasn't a good idea either. Have it become a habit to skip fees like that, and they eventually catch up with you no matter what. I figured I should be thankful for being let off the hook this once, and not to push my luck in the future. The question how long I'd stay truthful to that promise was up in the air, of course. I might not just be able to buy my ticket out of wherever I'd end up next.

When I could see we were pulling into another station, I felt like I'd aged six or seven years in the past half hour alone. And when we came to a halt and the door opened, the conductor didn't have to say another word for me to leap outside onto the platform, and out of his jurisdiction. I spared another thought on him when silently wishing him good luck finding Cherry Cola in Baltimare, before turning right and casually strolling out of his sight.

The air outside was still could of course, but at least now the sun was shining, so I didn't again feel like I'd freeze all over within seconds. In fact, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. And as the engine's whistle hooted across the platform and the train was set back in motion, I realized how winter had now come to Equestria, and I never even noticed.

The train station consisted of a two-story wooden building and a single track. The town whose name was Ponyville, as a sign on the station building told me, didn't exactly make the impression of a metropolis. Especially since I couldn't see a soul out on the platform except myself, until Mac walked past me, and I remembered how this was supposedly his hometown.

He didn't exactly walk past all the way. After he'd gotten two or three feet past me, he stopped, and even from my position I could see the gears in his head working. He turned back around to face me after a moment.

"You…got a place to go, right?" he asked.

"Not really." I just wanted to sink into the ground as soon as he started talking to me again. "I didn't plan on ending up here."

He scowled. "Need someplace?"

"You really don't have to."

"I know."

I really just wished I hadn't been kicked off the train, then. Not for another station or so, at least. He didn't deserve having to put up with me, but even then we both knew there was no other option for me. If only all of his would have happened during the summer, I thought! In summer, I'd just sleep outside somewhere for a couple of weeks trying to figure things out, which of course, I never did. I forced myself to look Mac in the eye. He looked somewhat grim at the prospect of inviting me over, but earnest all the same. I couldn't turn down the offer, how would that make me look? Not too great, that much I could tell.

"Well, okay," I mumbled. "Where...do you live?"

He motioned with his head, "right that way." And on our way we were, into the unknown once again.

We didn't talk too much along the way. He didn't seem too much of a talker in general, which was just as well. There weren't a lot of ponies out and about on the streets, but I couldn't blame them given the season and all that. Either way it gave me more time to take in the atmosphere of the town, uneventful as it was. The buildings were what I'd describe as somewhat rusty, with their timber-framed facades and hay-stacked roofs and all that. I couldn't imagine anything like that in a town like Manehattan or the likes.

But it got even rustier than that as we got closer to Mac's home. It was a little outside of town even, namely a little farm surrounded by hilly acres with rows and rows of trees that currently didn't bear any leaves or fruits. From what he told me earlier, I guessed those to be apple trees, but I couldn't for the life of me have told the difference.

We trotted up to one of the wooden shacks that made up the centerpiece of the estate and which, guessing from his determination, seemed to be the house where he lived. Again, I couldn't have known. The windows were all closed down with wooden lids, making it look all too similar than the nearby barn or whatever it was. He knocked on what I guessed to be the front door, then took a step back and waited. It hadn't even occurred to me that there might be someone else living with him.

We waited for a minute or so, and I couldn't deny that I'd started shivering again. Whatever I'd do hadn't I taken him up for his offer, I had no way of telling. Eventually, the oaken door swung open revealing an orange-coated, blonde mare standing in the door frame. Her freckled face lit up at the sight of my companion, and she was quick to rush forward and greet him with a hug.

"There ya are, we've been waiting all of yesterday for ya," she told him in an accent similar to his. I guess that shouldn't have surprised me. She grew a bit more serious after her warm welcome. "Did you get the deal?"

"Yeah, we got the deal," Mac replied with a nod, and the mare relaxed again.

"Phew, well, that's gonna have us set for now, I guess," she said with a grin before giving me an interested look, greeting me with a "Howdy there."

"Uh...hi," I mumbled, and immediately scolded myself for it. Way to break the ice.

"You are..." she began with a questioning look.

"Punch. Berry Punch," I told her. "Well, about that..."

"Give us a minute, alright?" Mac asked. "Come in and get yerself warmed up, and my sister and I'll discuss this here."

I nodded, as I followed him across the doorstep. The mare regarded both of us with confused looks, before closing the door behind us and having Mac lead her to a nearby room, leaving me standing in the corridor. I swallowed hard. At least she was only his sister, I thought. That did make the situation a bit less awkward. And maybe it even raised my chances of being taken in for now.

Then I thought, did I even want to do this? I hardly even knew these ponies, and even by just coming into their home like that, I felt like I was being incredibly rude and intrusive. Had I had any other place to go just then, I'd have used my first opportunity to gallop right back out of there. But that wasn't the case. And now this whole family of complete strangers would have to put up with me, for better or worse. As I looked around the room to distract myself, I spotted a family photo depicting Mac and his sister, along with some older lime coated mare, and a bright yellowish filly.

There was another door up ahead which stood a bit ajar, and I could hear some muffled, high-pitched voices coming from there. That was probably them, I figured. After I'd waited on the doorstep for another while, I decided to go on ahead and take a look inside. I had nothing better to do, anyway, might as well introduce myself.

When peeking through the door, I spotted a large, cozy-looking living room. There was a kitchen with a large dining table to my left, and a lit fireplace to my right. The old mare from the photo I could spot fast asleep and quietly snoring on a rocking chair near the latter. Two fillies were sitting around the kitchen table, one of them clearly the one from the photo. The other one who was coated in different shades of purple I hadn't seen any hint of so far. They were fixated on some sheets of paper laying in front of them. Doing homework, most likely. That in itself made them more qualified for their later life than me, sadly. I wanted to take a step back, out into the hallway, but the two fillies already spotted me.

"Hey, wait," the purple one squeaked, looking directly at me. Her friend reacted by also turning her eyes towards me, and she immediately did look very confused and worried. Which is likely how anyone would react to a stranger suddenly showing up in their own home. I didn't make things less tense by just standing there, frozen, unsure what to do. While the yellow filly was growing visibly aggravated, I couldn't help but notice the other one thoughtfully studying me.

"Are you my sister?" she asked, out of the blue. Both me and her friend looked at her, even more bewildered. With all that catching me even more off-guard than anything else so far, I didn't even notice the door open up behind me, as the orange mare stepped out and past me. Once she'd gotten into sight, the yellow filly immediately looked to her for help.

"Alright then, AB and Piña, listen up." She motioned towards me. "This here's Miss Berry Punch, she'll be stayin' with us for a couple nights, cause she ain't got no other place to go, y'hear? Now, Mac an' I are gonna help her git back on her hoofs. Till then, she'll just be up in the guestroom, so don't you let yourselves be irritated none."

I cracked a false smile, hoping to break some of the tension. It didn't work, needless to say.

"Well, Miss Punch," the mare said. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. This here's my baby sister Apple Bloom, and that's Piña Colada from her school. And I'm Applejack. You already know my brother Big Macintosh, of course."

"Hi, Miss Punch," the purple filly yelled, waving a hoof. "I like your coat color."

I shrank back a little at that, and so did Applejack. The old mare meanwhile, didn't even stir throughout any of this. Apple Bloom did a more intimidated wave, mumbling some sort of greeting along with it. I just nodded in response. It seemed to be the most reasonable thing to do. Applejack turned back to me and Mac.

"Say, what do y'all say I'll make us some tea, while you get yerself warmed up? Mac can show you to your room."

I turned to face Mac who still stood behind me in the hallway. As he began trotting up the stairs, he motioned for me to follow. Once we made it to the first floor landing, he paused.

"Guest room's upstairs, first door to your left," he told me. "There's a bathroom all the way down the hall, with a shower and whatnot. You might want to use that, uh, no offense."

I nodded. "None taken," I replied, all too tired. And how could I have taken any offense from anything these ponies said? If anything, they should be the ones taking it from me. As Mac left me to myself marching up to the third floor, I still couldn't believe I was actually doing this.

I'd thought to myself some time before that good things might still exist in this world. And who knew. Maybe they really did.


	14. One for the Road

"These're the ones you call Golden Delicious, golden cause of the dark yellow peel, y'know. They're mighty sweet in particular, which is why ponies mostly use 'em for salads or the likes. Pretty visibly different from red apples, too. Most common red apples are either Gala, Elstar, Red Delicious, Red Astrachan, Boskop, or Cripps Red. Now Braeburn – that's a bit of a mixture; somewhat red, but also show some distinctive green taint ev'ry now and again. Green ones there's plenty of just as much, but the ones you're probably most familiar with are Granny Smith. These do have a color mighty similar to the coat of our own Granny Smith, which is probably why her folks named her that in the first place, I reckon."

"Darn tootin'," the old mare croaked in addition to the monologue, leaving Applejack a pause to catch her breath. She then went right back to digging into her breakfast stew.

"Anyhow, those sorts are what you'd call the basics," Applejack concluded. "We've grown most of them here at one point or another. They don't all grow equally well on this here soil though, which is why I'm constantly tryin' to filter sorts out and optimize production. Ain't always easy, but we get by, I guess."

My head was still spinning. Still sleepy from a night that felt way too short, I briefly forgot about the age-old rule to never ask ponies about anything they were seriously passionate about. Most of them wouldn't let you hear the end of it. I could only imagine how rarely anyone would ask about the nature of apples in a household that was about literally nothing else. So naturally she'd jump at the rare opportunity.

"So, uh…" I began, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere "Her name has always been Granny Smith, then?"

"Eeyup," was Mac's reply, muffled between two bites of his sandwich. It seemed to conclude any possible discussion on the subject.

"Tell us a bit about yourself then, Berry," Applejack continued. "It's okay if I say Berry, ain't it?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure." I shot up from my cereal with the uneasy feeling of there being a bit too much milk still stuck to my muzzle. "Well, I'm from Baltimare. But you already know that. Also, uh…" I stopped myself for a moment but eventually realized that there was no point in not telling at least part of the truth. "Ugh, who am I kidding. It's not that I don't have a place to stay right now. I haven't had one for years, if I'm honest. I've had some differences with my parents, and they, uh…they kicked me out of the house when I was still pretty young. Not _that_ young, but not really, well, all grown up and stuff. So, yeah."

I paused, thinking about where to continue. Also how much of the truth I should actually tell them. Would my moving around all the time make things better or worse? I definitely didn't need to tell them about how unreliable I could be when taking up a job somewhere. Much less about how not having had anything strong to drink in days made my throat was burn and ache to the point where I sometimes felt like I couldn't breathe anymore. Or the sick feeling that came with it. I really didn't need to talk about that. The best thing for me to do was keep my drinking down to a minimum for time being, and hope no-one would notice.

Applejack didn't seem to notice my desperate train of thought, but I could tell from the look on her face just how concerned she'd grown while I said all that. "So, what did ya do all that time then?" she asked.

I could only shrug in response. "Move around," I said. "Try to find something else to do, build up a new life. But I didn't really…know how to do that, so it never really worked out. The details aren't really interesting, I wouldn't want to bore you with all that."

I paused again, and all of a sudden, it did grow very quiet around the table. Applejack, along with her brother and sister had stopped their eating and were giving either me or the table looks of grim concern. Only their grandmother didn't seem to have herself bothered with any of it, since she just kept on going at it with her breakfast.

"I don't want to be mooching off someone else all the time though," I said. "And…I can work. Really. I'm not a skilled worker or anything, but give me something to do that doesn't require any special training, and I'll do it. Do you…think there's something to do in town I might be somewhat good at?"

"Huh," Applejack replied and looked at me. "I'd say I could offer you to stay with us as a farmhand for the season. It's just that…season's just about done now, and we put away the last of them apples just last week. There ain't too much to do around here in the winter. We might have to fix parts of the place up every now and then, but that ain't no work for somepony who ain't never done it before, no offense."

"None taken."

"If ya want to find work to do, you should go to town and ask around. There's bound to be something, there always is. If I were you, I'd go around to Sugarcube Corner. It's a cafe and a bit of a gathering place for locals. Bright and colorful building, right in the center of town. Can't miss it, really."

"Alright."

"There's a friend o' mine working there, too. Pinkameena Pie is her name, but folks 'round here just call her Pinkie. I'd suggest you ask for her when you get there. She's one of them ponies always up and about socializing with everyone and whatnot. Knows basically everyone around Ponyville, so if ya want any info, you'll probably get it from her."

I nodded.

"Actually," Applejack added after some brief consideration. "Actually, you better just call her Pinkie. She usually don't like that other name too much."

"How so?"

"Beats me. Gets her down sometimes though, and that ain't ever a pretty sight."

"Fair enough."

"There's something else though," Applejack said. "I ain't no psychologist or anything like that, but I can tell you were being honest with what ya just told us. That might not be the whole truth just yet, but you seem a good pony, nonetheless. So, if ya don't find anything…we're here to help, alright? With that deal Mac's made for our business back in Baltimare we're pretty much set for a good while anyhow, so another mouth to feed won't make no difference."

I nodded that off, silently staring into my bowl of food, not daring to look her in the eyes. What she just said made me feel a whole mix of emotions I couldn't really do much with. I felt light years away from deserving even a tiny piece of all this.

"Look, Berry. I can see you've been through some mighty rough times. I just wanna help, is all."

I nodded again. After a while trying to blink back tears, I managed a muffled "thank you," feeling I'd owe her at least that.

The tension over breakfast actually made me feel somewhat relieved to get out of Sweet Apple Acres for the day. As I went into town, I told myself not to try and avoid Applejack and her family just because of my feeling uneasy about their help. At that point I needed some fresh air however, and this rural town was more than happy to provide me with it. I didn't want to stay out too long, even. The day did pass quicker than I thought it would though, and when I went on my way back to the farm I didn't feel like I'd actually gotten much done. Given the shortened days during winter, it probably really hadn't been that much time.

Around sunset I strolled around the streets, still feeling a bit messy from that visit to the cafe Applejack recommended. Her friend had very much provided me with all the info I needed about no less than four different places around town where help might be wanted. Afterwards she also bombarded me with questions about myself while burying me in a tsunami of information about the town, herself, her friends, and above all how great everything was, all while desperately trying to befriend me or at least getting me to acknowledge her attempt. She'd been such a whirlwind of emotions that I decided to use the first opportunity I'd find to get back out of there and home safely without appearing all too rude. In the end, I only had to promise to give her regards to the Apple family and all that, which wasn't too much to ask.

I chuckled at the encounter, to be honest. I didn't necessarily dislike Pinkie Pie because of her behavior either, it wasn't like she meant to make me feel anxious. A bit of it made me laugh, too. And that hadn't happened in a while now.

My thoughts and smiling got interrupted however, when I rounded a street corner and suddenly found myself face to face with the purple filly from the other day. The one who wanted to be my sister or something like that. She stopped and beamed at the sight of me, which was just about the last reaction I'd expected.

"Hi again, Miss Punch," she squeaked as a greeting. "You look even better than yesterday."

"Thanks," I replied with a snort. "How did…how did that project of yours go?"

"Oh, not too bad. We did get a B+, but Miss Cherilee can be pretty strict with those kinds of things, so I guess it went well. Oh, Miss Cherilee is our teacher, by the way. That's right, you don't know her."

"Right, right, um…" I hesitated at first, wondering whether I really should bring up the whole sister thing again. But I figured I might as well. "What about that me being your sister thing from yesterday, then? What was that all about?"

"I mean, we're not _really_ sisters, duh!" she said. "But I don't have a sister, and I sometimes think it would be nice to have one. Like, we have this thing every summer, this competition, right? It's called the Sisterhooves Social, and you gotta be there in pairs, otherwise you can't join, and, uh…" she interrupted herself, as the rapid outburst had obviously gotten ahead of her own thoughts. "And you don't _really_ have to be sisters either, I've seen pairs of ponies join who weren't sisters, like the, uh, okay no, you probably don't know them. But we could be like…sort-of sisters, and that's enough for the Social, don't you think?"

"I guess," I told her. "Eh, fair enough. I think I can do that once a year."

She jumped at that, her grin widening even further. "Sweet, that's so cool! Oh, I forgot, I have to be home by sunset, uh, gotta run, but thanks!"

She took off and dashed down the street for another block or two before rounding another corner and disappearing out of sight. I watched her go with mixed feelings about what I'd just agreed to. Of course I liked to see that filly happy, I just wasn't too sure I could live up to her expectations. I didn't want to disappoint her…so I'd just have to stay on track and not mess around next summer. I could do that for one day, at least.

Speaking of not living up to the expectations of others, I remembered there was one more thing I wanted to look into before calling it a day. I kept gazing up and down the street and glancing into side roads for a place where I could get myself a bit to drink. Just a really, really tiny bit; a glass of wine maybe, but not much more than that. Trotting down that little, wet road in downtown Ponyville then and there, I promised myself one more thing, just like so many times before: One little drink, and then off to bed. With all the positivity of the day so far, I felt positively sure it would work this time.


End file.
